COFFEE TASTES LIKE BURNT FRIES.

MY TONGUE HAS BEEN BOUGHT BY THE SCALDING DEPTHS OF HELL.

But caffeinnnnnnne. That's always useful. Especially when waking up early in the morning, but at least it's not energy drink (life hack: DON'T DRINK ENERGY DRINK IN THE MORNING, YOU WILL FEEL SICK AND DIE HALFWAY THROUGH THE DAY, a tried and tested method by yours truly).

Why did I wake up early? Maybe Claudia's to blame!? She usually is! That fucking cretin lives to wake me up at six o'clock in the morning with her shitty One Direction music. It is a sad fact of my life that my parents ilet her/i. But today I had to do the THING and that meant early hours so I could dash to Marco's house before he left. (My father does not know this, I was grounded yesterday, but he can't be there to ground me when he's asleep, can he? Honhonhon)

My mouth feels like a test tube full of acid. I feel sick. My stomach has decided it wants to grow up to be an orchestra- hopefully Bodt doesn't hear its song that resembles the sound of a crying baby whale. And school-girl jitters don't help! Being flustered around a certain person who brushing his icicle hands against mine reeeeeally doesn't help my State! It sends me into another one! For all I know I could be in Nebraska! I'm certainly not in Trost, and if this morning is anything to go by, I'm not even on Earth: I've gone to Jean-Bo land.

I LIKE IT HERE.

HOW'S ABOUT I SEND YOU A POSTCARD?

For now, for now, though, I'll hold my boyfriend's hand (YES I DID THE THING, FUCKING HELL YES. I fucking LOVE that he loves it) as we strut towards school like two Bosses. He's looking at me all pretty like and tender so with those big brown eyes of his and my mind becomes a nebula. I can't wait to do all the things (LOTS OF THINGS) I've imagined us doing together.

Really, really innocent things. Vanilla! Like him kissing me on the head so that I can feel his wavering breaths. Listening to him blab about his drama assignment while running my fingers through his as though I'm combing silky hair, just like this! I put our entwined hands into my coat pocket. I'd rather not get frostbite. There are better ways to go out, contrary to my past belief. The movement brings him closer so that our clothed forearms are brushing and-

Before I know it, his fingers twitch and he's ducking down to peck me on the cheek with a quiet smack, smooshing his nose against my squinting eye, and I'm halfway in the air, jumping in surprise. I must be imagining things right? There's, there's no iway/i he just did that.

After a few stiffly trodden paces, I squeeze his hand closer to mine in my pocket, clamping my lips together as I try to control the ability to shove air down to my lungs. My face wants me to bury it under my palms but that'd mean taking my hand away from his, and as overwhelming as it is, I definitely like the feel of his long nail gently dragging, swirling along the creases of my palm. My lungs falter, making me gasp inwardly at least a hundred times before I can speak again.

I gulp dryly. "You're not allowed to do that."

"Eh?" he cocks his head when I glance at him suspiciously. "You don't want me to hold your hand?" From the way he's biting his lip, eyes shining with rays of mischief and voice ladled with a teasing lilt, I know he's messing with me. The need to hug is strong with this one!

I head-butt the shoulder hiding under waterproof material and snow, nuzzling it, and giving him a look that has the concerto in my chest resound through my body. Warmth radiates within me as he watches my face intently, seemingly in awe and slightly embarrassed of the attention I'm giving him, yet not wanting to look away. It's weird... knowing that he wants to look at me. I'm still trying to convince myself that that's the truth.

I roll my tongue around inside my mouth, licking my teeth as I do so. The feeling reminds me of what his felt like...

"You're not allowed to be so bloody cute,"

I think about calling him a goof-ball, a cheese ball, something to suggest how ridiculous and dorky he is, but then I have something in mind that I iknow/i will draw a reaction from him.

"iSweetheart/i"

When Marco processes what I've just said, what I've called him, his eyes bulge and he splutters, staring down at his feet as though he's a shy little kid. His scrunched up face burns red. My own face is tempted to copy his because this is a little different from my usual teasing God, what have I just begun?!/i

You know, I think there's something inept–but honest- when you accept your feelings through the eyes of your younger self. Because you're naïve, and you haven't seen what the world doesn't have to offer; overall happiness is an instant reaction to all the good things around you.

Everything is "good" almost all the time; and there's no ihiding/i what you feel or dodging around your emotions, because you just idon't know/i how to or why you would.

Right now ieverything/i makes me happy; the flutter of November's liquid white butterflies landing on me, cluttering the threads of his dark hair that my fingertips once explored, and the freezing air that wakes me up, wide eyed to the bashful color on his freckled cheeks. Color which reminds me: he's flesh and blood; he's ialive/i – with all his parts in all the right places, and ithen some./i

After suffering through the stale obligation of avoiding too much eye contact to keep things platonic, and suppressing loving smiles he wasn't allowed to know existed, it feels ihealthy/i to give him a smile so big it hurts my frostbitten cheeks. This is the same elation I reacted with not even a day ago, the same one that lifted the gravity from my stomach when I heard his soothing voice from my dreams, filling my reality by telling me the things my fantasies only told me stories of.

He looks at me in a way that's torn between "I love you, you fucking cheesy shit, you" and "OH MY GOD HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART".

I'm kinda proud. I made him look like that. Oh! It makes sense why writers like coffee so much; it turns them into fucking Shakespeare and jacks up their energy levels and makes them spout all sorts of poetic, feelsy shit. (Do I even know what inept means?)

Shall I compare Marco Bodt to a summer's day?

No, I shan't. Because I actually hate summer: the heat is stifling and suffocates me. Don't get me started on mosquitoes and fucking flip flops and the boredom of waiting for school to start again. Summer is just a memory now, fortunately. I pretty much hate all seasons, but spring is okay. That's when my birthday is -that day when you celebrate still being alive.

Loving Marco is like spring.

(Cheeeeese. CHEEEESE. I'M GAGGING AT MY OWN SICKENING CUTENESS... Or maybe it's the coffee)

Walking to school with him and my innermost thoughts reminds me of the beginning to warmth after a long, metaphorical winter of being scared, lost in bleak thoughts: ihe might never feel the same way/i. Being able to kiss his cheek or his nose (if I can reach), looking at him iwithout having to look away/i (until it starts getting creepy), the rush I feel when I wonder what he's thinking (I bet he's secretly a pervert); that's fresh.

We all know I'm an awkward baby lamb who's just learning how to walk, with only a head-butt in the ass to start me up, leaving me clueless otherwise. No, don't you fucking dare call me sheep face. My pet name will not be Lamb-Chop. I know where you live, idon't test me./i

Loving Marco makes me ifeel/i alive.

True true; I was alive before him, and after him. For maaaany many years. Plus, I didn't actually like him to begin with. But after seeing I loved him; I was a lot more iaware/i that I was alive. It's the realization of "Holy shit, I can isee/i!" over and over when he's in the equation.

Even when I'm nowhere near him, the thoughts he brings to mind (the sensation of his plentiful kisses on my lips, reminisced with a finger trailing across my mouth) have me reacting -whether it's with good or bad emotions. Both kinds are human, and they remind me that I'm a iliving/i one.

I'd always wondered why people say things like "He makes me feel ten years younger" when they're in love and now I understand exactly why.

Might I also remind you; a lot of the stuff you did when you were younger was a result of your istupidity/i mixed with a bravery you only had because you were a stubborn little shit that always made sure to get what you wanted, regardless of how terrifying it was, like walking on a high wall next to the road. (Maybe that's just me) Because of that, I had managed to ask Marco out.

D-dating, yeah, that's a thing now, aha, in fact we're a thing. Hahahaaahaahaaaaa.

I can't believe Marco called me an idiot after I did such a brave deed. Although I guess the fact that he made out with me on his doorstep makes up a little for that fact... Just a tad...

"Jean," Marco giggles with his freckled nose brushing mine. He's going a little cross eyed as he looks into my eyes. There's a appreciative feeling in my gut. "C'mon, we've got class; the late bell'll go soon..." iI'm pretty sure this is the stuff of dreams./i

I grin against his plump, flushed cheek, leaning in for a kiss but not doing so just yet. His back is leaning against the lockers we've stuffed our jackets in, and I'm glancing out the sides of my eyes to check the hallway's still empty. "One more, I promise." I lie sweetly, running my hands up and down his broad forearms as he rests his on my chest. My eyes flutter when he reaches for my bare collarbone, my body arching into the touch with chills cascading all over, silently begging for more.

We're so iintimate/i all of a sudden, ever since we confessed yesterday... I thought it would be too soon, that we'd have to get used to touching each other and well, kind of act like normal I guess. He really must've gotten over his homophobia if he can act so close with me. It doesn't feel awkward or strange, being so cozy with him. It's nerve wrecking, yes, but not to the point where I'm completely freaking out.

"Jeaaaannn, you said that last time..." He groans -even though he's pouting like a kid I love the sound- while leaning in to kiss me again (The irony, I know) lips travelling up from the dip of my chin. He wraps his arms around my waist when his smooth lips meet mine.

Smiling against Marco's mouth, our teeth clink for a moment, and I reach for his black hair in victory as he hums quietly, singing tuneful vibrations upon my lips and slipping his tongue across mine. Fuuuuuck. This is better than I thought it would be. I can't help but moan quietly and press our chests flush together, my hoodie riding up at the front to remind me of our barriers. I kiss him harder, again and again, until my slicked lips are buzzing with oncoming bruises. This is the honeymoon period of our relationship and hell yes am I relishing in it for as long as it lasts. I'm sure I can postpone the bad stuff if I try hard enough. My capabilities would surprise you.

You see this kind of thing all the time, right? In high school, couples are always kissing before each class (maybe not as hotly as we are...), acting as sappy as shit (for those of you who don't; you are seriously missing out, okay?) and walking each other to class even when they're in different directions. Some might say doing that sort of thing is just one of the obligations of dating -even the word sounds too official and predictable in its meaning.

But I am not a jaded guy! The only reason we're doing the Sappy Shit is because I can't keep my hands off Marco and he's not stopping me. I especially enjoy kissing him when it feels so... forbidden. What can I say, I'm a stubborn guy. Apparently I get off on being a rebel...

The controversy is strong with this case; the Dylan incident pretty much sums up how the school would react to gays. We have to be careful not to be seen. Feeling a presence (feeling paranoid, rather) I open my eyes mid-kiss and peer away from Marco's dark eyebrows and blissfully closed lids (so cute) to see a figure standing near us. Because that's totally not creepy. Not at all.

Well. Mission Failed. That was quick-

Wait, it's Connie.

I tap Marco's arm twice, a code message that I have made up on the spot to notify him that we've been seen. We pull away reluctantly, he fucking whines and chases my lips. Sweet Baby Jesus; I'm sorry but there is no saviour for me now. My eyes flicker from him to Connie, who's shaking his head and rolling his eyes with a smile. His gaze falls to the floor then back up at us, a red tint staining his pale cheeks.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I just want to know that we're cool, yeah?" Fuck, help, my back is burning in awkwardness and I haven't even said anything yet. "I'd like for us to be friends, with nothing weird going on. I'm not going to try anything, swear on it." He holds his hands up, warily eyeing Marco.

I'm iextremely/i surprised to see Marco fight back a twitch in his upper lip, as though he wants to grimace or sneer or even growl. His eyes are small and narrowed, and then he looks down at me (fucking height difference).

"Fine by me," he replies simply, though the stiffness of his words almost sounds menacing. "You?" he asks me.

With all the attention directed onto me, I begin to fidget and nod repeatedly. "Yeah yeah yeah, sure thing, friends and nothing weird, and no, um, no iglaring/i at each other either." I raise an eyebrow pointedly at Marco, crossing my arms across my chest and his face falls.

Connie gives a small wave and big grin, and wanders off down the hallway with a spring in his step. I blow out a huge breath that ends with uncontrollable chuckles.

"Dude, that was fucking intense. What am I missing? I've inever/i seen you look at him like that." I begin walking slowly to the classroom and Marco follows, trudging behind me.

He purses his lips and shrugs, reaching out to hold the tip of my pinkie between his fingers and thumb. He sighs heavily, rubbing my finger gently. It must have a nerve connected to my increasing heart rate. That's fucking illegal, stop working me up so much, Marco.

"You remember when you asked if I hated Connie? After I told you how long he'd liked you for?" I hesitate, and then nod with a grimace. "It wasn't that I hated him, it's more like we were... Love rivals."

Even though I snort in laughter, I can't help but feel excited at the idea that he competed for my affection. "Oh? Say, have you ever gotten jealous over me?"

"...Yeah, I guess." he looks away from me, rubbing his neck with his free hand.

"Aaaw, Mar-Mar. Well, I have to admit, I've gotten jealous too."

He spins his head round in shock, moving to clasp my whole hand with his as he turns red. "Oh don't look so surprised. Do you not remember how much I've flirted with you? I've been coming onto you for months! That's plenty of time for the feeling to arise." He still looks surprised.

"Uh, anyway, it was because I thought you liked Mikasa when we had the uh, the séance, but then you went and told me you've never had a crush before."

I shrug, embarrassed about the fact that I'm actually telling him this. "Connie's help turned out to be for nothing..." Well, maybe not for nothing, but it probably hadn't been too necessary, considering I'd misconceived the entire thing between Marco and Mikasa, right?

"How did Connie help you?" His voice is drowned out by the late bell. "Ah damn, well it's a bit late for story time. Tell me at break, 'kay?" he pauses for a beat, glancing in the direction of his classroom then back at me as seconds drag by slowly. "I love you."

We've already broken boundaries with the L word. I guess that's one less thing to worry about in the future...

My stomach swells at the words and I suppress a dorky grin. With a shy smile, he wraps an arm around my shoulders to bring me closer and pecks my head, lingering momentarily as he practically nuzzles my hair. What is with him and hair?! Not that I'm complaining, if the heat in my face, my entire ibeing/i, is anything to go by. I didn't even realise it could feel so nice to have someone play with my hair. Maybe I like being petted. Maybe I really am a cat...

"Mm, I love you too, idarlin'/i."

He releases me with a laugh (damn it, the power of pet names has decreased considerably, I'll have to change tactics) and dashes down the corridor because he's a goody two shoes that cares too much about school. Before he's out of view he turns and waves with his entire arm. I quickly blow him a kiss just to see what he does.

I don't think he was expecting it because he freezes in his stance, looking away then back again, as though he's not entirely sure that it happened. He's been defeated in the challenge of cheesiness! Marco slouches, stumbling away, and I realise that wow; I am really fucking gay. Although to be fair on myself, I've done much gayer things in the past. But they'd give you scarring memories so I won't tell you about them. Seriously, I'm doing you a favor here.

By lunchtime I've explained to him the whole thing where I was insecure about having a crush on Marco (those were dark, dark days) and how Connie bitch-slapped me into common sense and reality. Marco made sure to reassure me, in ways I am sure you know of... And if you don't, well. Let's just say Marco likes to get mouthy. Also by this time, Marco had "perfected his method of coming out to everyone". I thought he meant telling them he was going out with me, but instead it was the fact that he remembered our past lives. Oh yeah. Kinda forgot about that.

He sits by me, resting his arm around my shoulder (which I've come to learn is him hogging my bodily heat) and acts completely normal. I don't know why, but it feels like I'm waiting for him to announce to everyone that he's pregnant. And that I'm the father. The table is filled by our usual duos: Sasha and Connie, Bertholdt and Reiner, Ymir and Christa... Wait, Historia? I always forget her name now. Apparently we're all "Team Homosexual" now. It's better than the name Lunch Time Crew, I guess.

I think about introducing the fact that Marco had something important to say, and that they had all better shut up about whatever it is they're talking about, but Bodt manages to capture their attention. An arm is removed from my shoulder and Marco presses his hands to his temple and begins breathing heavily.

He fucking iscreams/i and scares the absolute crap out of everyone. Including me. Then he lifts his head up, looking completely innocent, takes his damn time in admiring the foliage around us for no apparent reason while everyone gawks at him. He gasps in wonder, smiling bright enough to give me a tan.

"Oh holy reincarnation!" he squeals. "Am I ever glad to be back in the land of the living!"

... I did tell you he was obsessed with Batman (I just never knew it was this bad)

A few days later, I find myself drowning in horrible music at Reiner's house during the celebration party. It didn't take much persuading and pleading to my dad to let me go, surprisingly. I'm alone on the couch while Marco talks to a gaggle of the 104th Trainee Squad members about the past like some ancient post-war veteran. I'll be honest; I'm not into old guys. Act your age, Marco! I won't stand for this nonsense!

It's nice that he's bonding with everyone, but I'm kinda alone on the sofa... I mean, I'm not one to be clingy, I don't think so anyway; I don't need to be around him all the time. I know he'll probably be clingy when his nightmares start. Maybe they already have? He hasn't told me too much, and I don't want to push him because that's just bullshit. I'm still worried about the possibility of psychological damage. It can take a while for PTSD to take effect, you know.

Some company would be better than sitting around with a pizza slice like a fucking loser. This is the one time I hang out with these guys (I am too weak when it comes to Marco's brown eyes and bribes of sloppy make outs and free pizza -I'm not sorry) and I'm left to my own devices? It's not like I can just go up and start talking to anyone...

Mina, Sasha and Armin are playing monopoly on Armin's IPad on the kitchen table. I'm assuming the latter's winning, you know, just taking into account the fact that Sasha's screaming "GIVE ME WHITEHALL BACK YOU THIEVING BASTARD!" and Mina looks close to tears. Thomas and Nac are trying to convince Mylius to let them cut his hair with scissors and a bowl and are cornering him in the hallway (I think there was a mention of blue hair dye?).

There's a horde of girls sitting in the living room, talking about god knows what, and a herd of boys are outside playing soccer (I hate soccer, it's so fucking pointless). I shoot a glance over to Marco, as I have been every five seconds, and his eyes flicker in my direction. I pout at him, patting the couch that should have his fine ass on it. But he gestures towards the group he's talking to with a "what can I do?" look.

I shrug and smile tightly, a little annoyed that he's not paying me as much attention as I'd like, but reluctantly acknowledging that hey -he actually has a social-life unlike someone, and walk out into the garden to watch the idiots scream at the ball they're kicking. It's been fucking snowing, and yet here they are, outside. All for a piece of pumped up plastic and a chance to blow off their hormones in a show of manly pride. Basketball is classier.

I sit on the wooden steps of the back porch, watching their stupid game, blocking out the stupid dance music blaring from inside. I'm mostly zoning out as I eat the remainder of my pizza slice, over-thinking everything I've ever done. It's a lovely habit of mine. I do it a lot around Marco, needless to say.

Like, what happens now?

We don't really see each other out of school unless it's for basketball practice. Maybe he doesn't want to. Am I supposed to take him on a date? Vice versa? Am I allowed to be really cliché and take him out to dinner? Oh god, what would I even wear? I've never been on a date before, and I don't have anyone that can help me. I'd ask Reiner, but he'd just tell me to wear a mankini and a feather boa. And I'd do it, because I'm that fucking clueless and gullible.

How much time am I supposed to spend with him? I'd spend too much time with him, I bet, and end up annoying him and he'd want to take a break so he could have some time alone and then I'd be by myself-

Wow, even I'd get bored of being with someone with that many issues. I jump when I feel a tap on my shoulder, turning round to see who's behind me, thinking it's Marco -but of course it just has to be Jaeger.

"...What?" I ask him. He looks confused, as per usual. His forehead looks damp, probably from his batshit crazy dancing or maybe he's finally releasing those hormones of his. I hope the jeans he's wearing will make it through the night, I honestly pity them.

Eren nods to himself. "Yeah so I heard you're going out with Marco?" I really fucking hate his eyes; they're too intense, like Simon from Misfits. It's not an attractive look. Makes him look psycho.

"What's it to you?" I growl at him, but it has no effect. Eren sits down beside me on the porch as Connie screams at the ball in the backyard. If I throw holy water at Eren will he leave me alone. Maybe salt. Maybe throw a stick and let him chase it. Here boy, go fetch.

Reaching into his pocket, he slips out his IPhone and motions for me to look at the bright screen. "Answer me this;" he stares me down and I grimace at his weirdness. Like, dude; leave me alone already. "Did your crush on him start out as being all nervous around him and thinking he's really good looking and shit?"

I stare at him incredulously, wishing I could back the fuck out of this situation. "Why the fuck would I tell you?!"

"Because there's a point to this. Now answer me."

"I...I guess it did?"

"Right," he glances back at his phone. "And then you started talking about him with other people? Freaking out whenever you heard his name or you saw him down the hall? You looked at all his facebook photos, again and again? Then you were convinced you were going crazy because he was giving you mixed signals, getting pissed off at him for it, anything like that at all?"

I stare at him for a few minutes, trying to figure out why the hell he sounds like he knows exactly what he's talking about and why the fuck he's talking to me at all and why the hell I want him to continue his ramble. "...Yeah, something like that."

He shows me the screen that appears to be on a dating website. "This is what'll happen now that you're together. Plan for the future and the like. Say, what college are you going to together? When are you getting married?"

I'm distracted from the screen at the sudden questions of my future. "Dude, we started going out ithree days ago/i. Little too soon to start thinking about stuff like that." he nods like he's taking a mental note of what I said. Fucking hell, he probably is. He's such a stupid, naive little shit.

Paying attention to what he's showing me on his phone, I take it out his hands to get a better look. The website is showing the stages of a relationship: the infatuation stage, the understanding stage... The stage of disturbances? The opinion maker, the... moulding stage, the happy stage, the stage of doubts, s-sexual exploration or bust stage, and the stage of complete trust...

Thinking about it now... Sasha did tell me she grew out of her fanfiction because they all followed the same plan... In fact, in the stories, the relationship goes exactly like what Eren just showed me. Sasha told me something bad always happens after the couple has sex, for instance, because it brings them closer..? See also: sexual exploration=complete trust. Like, what the hell? Just 'cause you can stick it somewhere doesn't mean you trust them automatically, right?

"With this, you can pretty much see where your relationship is headed and how to fix it." Eren tells me proudly, straightening his back once I hand him back his phone.

"It might not always work to the status quo, because, like, some couples might not even admit they love each other even after a good few months, some might not say it at all, and some start out with sex and eventually get together proper. But even so, there's always a structure." he needs to stop sounding so mature. When the fuck did he start following plans?! It's giving me goosebumps.

The guys in the backyard ask me to kick the ball back to them, and I ignore them as they swear and throw me dirty looks, retrieving the ball that's three feet away from me. Lazy assholes. They need to learn their cardio.

"If that was true, someone would have written a guidebook to life." I tell Eren.

"I will write that book." he stares me down determinedly. Because when does he look at people any other way? It's him against the world.

I roll my eyes at him, crossing my arms to retain the heat. "Sure, sure. How to live your life; written by the suicidal bastard. They'll enjoy the irony, Jaeger."

It beats me as to why, but I make a mental note to check the website again later on, just as a back up plan in case things do go haywire, to maybe predict what will happen before it does. I think Eren can tell that that's what I'm doing, and he starts talking about his football games, at which point I stop listening.

After about ten minutes of his rant and having the ball aimed at me several times by some passive-aggressive fuckers, I heavily imply that he's annoying me. Just as he's about to leave, someone covers my eyes from behind. People are abusing my blind spot today. It has gone too far: I will smite them all.

"Guess who~"

Just to fuck with him, I say "Coach Erwin? What are you doing here?"

He snorts; I think I can feel his chin on my head. "Uh, try again."

"Batman."

"Oh I wish."

I pretend to gasp softly and whisper so that Eren doesn't hear. "Mar-Maaaaaar." Marco frees my eyes, now holding my cheeks instead. I lean my head back, resting between his legs when he sits, and gaze into the brown of his eyes, marvelling at the dots of hazel. Freckles, in his ieyes/i. "It's been years, how are you old man? You got a career? Married yet?"

Still looking at me from upside down, I see his eyelids lower and his lips part in a way that freezes my body but heats it on the inside. He leans over me. "No career yet, but there is this ione/i boy..."

His hands travel up the nape of my neck, over my shoulders so that his fingers are raining down my collarbones. When I shiver, I know it's not because of the cold. He kisses the bridge of my nose and I can't help but twitch my mouth into a smile and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.

"See, it was never really official but we promised to go to Canada for our honeymoon... We promised to take photos of the sacred moose and binge on maple syrup and make friends with a red squirrel called Carlos."

My shoulders slouch and I roll my eyes. "I was just telling Eren how it's too early to talk about that." The words stick in my throat at the thought, hence the reason we're not supposed to talk about it. "I was just joking before."

Marco smiles at me kindly, though there's a hint of disappointment in his eyes. I reach up, running his hair through my fingers as I grasp the back of his head and pull him closer. "I'll let you know when I change my mind, though." And just like that, the hope is back where it belongs.

Suddenly there's a loud wolf whistle and I'm hearing people chanting "Kiss, kiss, KISS, KISS! KIIIISS HIM, KIIIISS 'IM!". Marco snaps his head up and releases me from his arms. The soccer boys have stopped messing around, apparently looking for a new source of entertainment.

These bastards have ruined the moment for us, so I'm going to make them wish they hadn't. I lean forward as I stand up, smirking at the soccer players with a raised eyebrow as if to say, "Well alright then."

Poor Marco doesn't see it coming; I drag him down the stairs and in one fell swoop as he gracefully yelps, he's being dipped down. I hook my arms around his back for dear life and kiss him passionately as he makes a startled noise. Yes, I will use that word. I like that word. I say passionate because I'm nothing if not enthusiastic when kissing Marco. I melt into his body when he kisses me back with a small chuckle.

You poor reader! I've rambled on and on about how much I've wanted to kiss Marco for several chapters now, to feel his skin under my fingers, and now that I have every opportunity, I iwill/i rant on about how fucking amazing it is; how much I fucking ilove/i this guy and refuse to use that word lightly.

I want him; whether I have him flush against my chest, groins touching, my tongue deepening a kiss -just like this, or him getting on at me for not doing my homework or his stupid texts in the middle of the night or all the little trivia facts about the one and only Marco Bodt.

Pulling him back up, we part for a moment, but I attack his lips full force, tugging hard at his hair just to make him moan loudly. This earns us a few awkward coughs from the crowd as I press myself against him, lifting a middle finger to them, then using that same hand to travel downwards, massaging Marco's ass and rolling my hips into him when he bites on my bottom lip -half because I really fucking want to bring him closer and I'm getting pretty hot and bothered, half just to make them pay for what they interrupted.

"Get a fucking room!"

"Yeah, even Reiner and Bertholdt aren't as bad as you guys!"

I wince when I pull away from Marco, not even realizing how hard I am until just now and having to breathe (but not doing very well) for a moment. Marco's eyes are wide, his breathing is hitching all over the place, and his pupils are darker than normal. He never takes his eyes off of mine even when I lick my lips.

Panting lightly, I run my hands down his hair now that I'm done pulling at it and smile devilishly at Marco. "Oh, I'd be glad to. Come on,"

I reach down for Marco's wrist and he doesn't complain, only looking around at the crowd once he realizes that yeah, they heard your sexy noises, Marco. I drag him out the garden, heading towards the back gate that leads directly to the street. "Let's go hang out at my place. These losers can't handle the life and soul of the party getting it on with the cutest boy there."

I'm such a hypocrite, I know. With me complaining about being a loser then acting like I own the place. I hope that habit goes away over time. But for now I am very much admiring a noticeable tent in someone's pants as we attempt to run in the direction of my house...

If there's one thing I love most about Jean's laugh, it's that he sounds younger (as though his voice is breaking, squeaky, for lack of better description), more carefree than his usual self. We tumble almost on top of each other into Jean's room, wheezing as our grins break our faces and we fall onto his white sheeted bed. Huh. I thought they were cream colored last time I was here. In this sacred room. Might as well dub it the confession box...

"Why the ishoe cupboard/i though?" I ask him, turning to look at his face that's tinted red from laughing too hard. When he blushes like that, it lifts his whole face and softens his eyes. It's... It's so cute!

Jean fixes his blonde-brown hair and my eyes linger on the dark part of his undercut as I remember the feeling of its bristles under my fingers. I like the longer part too, being able to run my fingers through it, watching when it turns into strings of rainbow in bright light. Because liking hair as much as I do is totally normal. Of course it is. Aha ha, you just keep telling yourself that Bodt...

"It was the only place I could think of!" he retorts with an indignant huff, rolling onto his side to face me. It's like his body is saying "Draw me like one of my French girls. Not that I have any, you know, because although I'm French I'm also gay. Gay for you, Mar-Mar" Or maybe that's just my over-imagination working too hard. Why can't it do that when I actually need the ideas most?

"Jean, Jean, no. I know five year old ichildren/i that have better hiding places than you do." And I thank God, Denny's and every other deity there is for the fact that they'll actually get to live through their childhood this time.

He narrows his eyes at me in a mock scowl then frowns. "Don't underestimate the children. They're all secretly smart, like in that movie Baby Geniuses. They'll be out to get us one day," he stabs a finger in my direction, jabbing my shoulder. "You mark my words!"

Shuffling, I move so that I'm facing him as well, trying to be discreet about the fact I'm smelling his covers. They smell like firewood. Or who knows, perhaps my own blushing face committed arson... With how hot they are I really wouldn't be surprised.

"Why didn't you want me to see your dad? He seems nice, pretty friendly."

Jean was right; his dad really did have the whole two toned hair thing going on as well. I didn't really speak to him much apart from a greeting, seeing as Jean dragged me to his room. It's really weird how... Monochromatic, his room is? Is that the right word? It's black and white, either way. I guess it matches his views on life, even if he likes to think he sees the grey area.

He groans, covering his eyes with a bare forearm. "Nah nah nah nah, see, that's his work personality. He's a lawyer, Marco. He pretty much earns his pay by getting on everyone's good side. Oh, and he never shuts up with small talk. We would've been downstairs for the rest of the night if he had his way."

"Ah, I see, that's his inner dad worming his way through. I'm surprised he didn't ask you to keep the door open." I glance at my only exit.

A slow smirk plays its way across Jean's lips and he reveals his eyes that glint with deviousness. "You really think an open door would stop me from doing that kind of stuff?"

"...I doubt it would make a difference I suppose, knowing you."

"Yeah, my dad just knows better. I'm sure not even a closed would muffle your noises much, anyway."

He chuckles when I clamp my mouth together in embarrassment. Uuugh, I know everyone's going to talk about us making out in front of everyone when we go back to school... Still. It was absolutely worth the slight humiliation. Jeeeez-o. I'm surprised he was strong enough to dip me! And... I liked what he was doing with his hips... And how he was tugging at my hair; what the hell is it with me and hair?

"You wanna watch a movie? Or... We could make out, if Marco Junior's still paying us a visit. I have a feeling lil' Jean won't mind making an appearance again..." he trails a hand down the curve of my side and I shudder. He's blushing, even if he's trying to a be a cocky smartass. I take pride in the fact that I can make him look like that.

Scrunching my nose up, I shake my head. "The lingering smell of your family's feet on our clothes is kind of a turn off, to be honest." I can't believe he made me run with a boner. It wasn't fun, I'll tell you that much.

He rolls his eyes at me and I smile toothily at him. "A movie sounds great, Jean."

And then it hits me: is this a date?!

Does it really count though? Friends do stuff like this, watching movies and going round to each other's houses. But I suppose they don't discuss making out on the bed like horny teenagers... Oh, would you look at that! There is finally a stereotype that we can use to our advantage; the world contains hope after all! I just like kissing, okay? Maybe a little too much, what with Jean telling me every now and then that it gets a bit boring and hurts his jaw, I guess it does... (But its still freaking awesome)

Neither of us consider picking the horror movies from Jean's Netflix as we scroll through his laptop. We're sensible people, not masochists. We end up tuning into Marley and Me, because the shaggy haired man reminds me of Jean and dogs are cute! I thought Jean would complain about it being a chick flick, but then again; he does watch musicals for his own entertainment.

Leaning against the headboard, we both shift so that I have an arm around his shoulders, he has a hand on my lap that I am very much aware of -probably a little too aware- and I press my lips against his head, ignoring the opening titles and adverts.

"Marcooooo-"

"Whaaaaat-"

"Give me back my heaaad, why do you like my hair so much? Why do you like hair so much in general?!"

I chuckle, almost pushing him over as I lean in further. "I don't knooooow... I like your hair because it is warm and soft and smells like s'mores but I shouldn't like it this much. Make it stop, Jean. I can't live like this. I'll end up giving you a bald patch if this goes on."

Rearranging ourselves on the bed, we settle for me stroking up and down his forearm while he sits in front of me, with me perching my head on his shoulder to watch the screen and him stretching his neck back so that I'll leave kisses there. It makes my toes curl and chest buzz with how satisfying this is, God, I only wanted to kiss him once and hold him when couldn't sleep in the barracks.

I'm relishing in more than I bargained for. I've been given this, this ipile of sappiness/i right in front of me, resting against my chest with his hand on my thigh like it's the most natural thing in the world- and it feels like it is, even though we've only been going out for so long.

Ah, I think I know what it is. I... I tell Jean I love him because I'm pretty sure that's what I feel, it's more than liking, simply because of things like this. I'm comfortable around him. I trust him whole-heartedly and get mad on his behalf when he doesn't believe he's trustworthy or reliable.

It's not like we're a couple that only says those three words because everyone expects us to, or because we feel like we have to simply for the sake of fitting in with the image of what a couple should be. It's not quite like that for us, though we're to come a long way before it can ever have a love that'll never fizzle out. You're really setting yourself up high, aren't you Marco...

We've known each other for several years, technically. You get a whole heap of relationships that start based on physical attraction. From what I can tell, love is always being mixed up with infatuation; just because you like the way he smiles, you know a thing or two about his personality and like talking to him, that doesn't mean that you love that person.

I'm totally being condescending, what with me being a total virgin in love... And a virgin in general, I guess, but... I'm good at reading people, yeah? I can tell what people are feeling. After watching enough movies or reading enough books, you can see how believable the couple is and why.

It's not obvious, it mostly hides within the meanings of the words rather than the actual words themselves, and if you imagine them; you can see their affections as clear as melted snow. No matter how reserved one person is or if they pretend its something else, it shows outwardly.

Not because they're giving each other lovey-dovey eyes and kissing them, but because they're doing things to show it, like leaving the last pizza slice in the box for them even though you want it and doing things for them without having to be asked. And you do it because you care about them, you know them inside and out. You can be with a person for years, friend or something closer, and still never be in love with them, is what I think.

I just know I am. That's the only way of putting it, so be it. It's up to you whether you believe me or not. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't. I'm just a sixteen year old kid with not a lot of experience under his loose fitting belt. I've hurt Jean more times than he's hurt me, and I'm more than willing to make it up to him, though it might take me a while to figure out how.

"Hey Marco, are you alright?" Jean brings me out of my inner monologue.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just lecturing the readers about stuff."

"What stuff?" His eyes drift from the screen to you.

Staring at you too, I whisper "All kinds of stuff."

We turn our attention back to the screen, and I tell Jean that the dog reminds me of his and Eren's relationship and he insists he doesn't like Eren. "But Jean, your affection for him is so thinly veiled!" I tell him, squeezing him between my legs. When I press my lips onto the crook of his neck where front meets back, he grins and turns to kiss my forehead, rubbing his fingers into my arms so that it tingles and makes my heart beat faster.

I whisper into his ear when the scene fast-forwards the story leading to the future, blinking brightly in the darkness of the room with one image after the other, the narrator's voice a light hearted and inviting hum in the background.

"I love you, Jean. I regret not saying it to you before," my lips trail up his earlobe and I hear him gasp. "But it makes this time ithat/i much more special, don't you think? I doubt I'll forget you this time; I'm making sure you know how I feel for you enough times so I never lose you again."

We're unintentionally masochists, is what I find out.

It ends in tears, and I can't say I'm surprised when Jean's dad bursts into the room when he hears Jean sob loudly onto my chest. I don't think it helps the situation when I glance back at the rolling credits on the screen and start bawling my eyes out too.

"I-it's not fair..." we chorus as his dad gives us a reassuring pat on the head and goes downstairs to get us some water. "He's not allowed to diiiiiie."

"We're never getting a dog." I tell him, wiping my tears onto his t-shirt. "All it's going to do is break my heart."

"See, this is why I'm a cat person." his sigh shudders, caressing my neck. We never do get that milk, because we end up falling asleep on his bed, blanketing each other with our arms.

They say the people you see in your dreams are people you've seen before, even if they're just a passing face in a crowd.

This person is no stranger to me.

I'm back in Jinae, the walls are there but we aren't at war. Standing in my older next-door-neighbour's garden, I look at him sitting on the porch with my twelve year old eyes. I feel my chest stiffen when I see those familiar dark curls framing pale skin, shadowing eyes so dark they look black, lips that are always pursed ever so slightly, a beauty mark beside his left eye. His skin wasn't always this pale.

Cecilio is ill. Mom has told me this, time and time again. There's something broken in his heart. It's been this way for three years. He'll die soon, any day now, they say. I know this, but there's some sort of far away concept about death that just makes it seem like an item on a to-do list you never actually plan on completing.

He snaps me out of my unresponsiveness when he walks towards me. "Marco? Hello~? Did you get me the pie I asked for? I would've went myself, but you know mother." he rolls his eyes, mouth curling up to reveal a dimple on his left cheek. I'm helpless to his smile.

Lio's wearing a long shirt and baggy trousers that hides his thin body, an orange, threaded bracelet hanging around his ankle. I made that, I think. Years ago. When Lio remembered what adrenaline feels like, when the sweet taste of fresh pine cones didn't hurt him. He holds out a hand to me, dimple still torturing me as I stumble along the dry grass towards him, offering him the bag that seems to have manifested in my hand.

"Ah, you're such a good guy Marco. Thanks for this. I miss being able to eat something that'd actually fill me. You are my saviour, good sir."

He mocks a bow in front of me, hiding one hand behind his back where he's holding the pie. The other is reaching out for mine, lifting it with the strength of a frail old man, kissing my knuckle like an elderly aunt. I'm enraptured by a look in his eye that reminds me of when father looks at mom, and I turn pink like she does when he compliments her.

I smile hugely when he lifts away, breathless even though I haven't run anywhere, feeling dizzy like when father would spin me around in his arms. I can still feel the wetness of his kiss on my joint. Nothing else calls out to me as much as the desire to touch him, so I gently place my hand on his shoulder, guiding him inside.

"You must be getting cold..."

As though I'm a stupid child, Lio scoffs at me. "It's just past the summer solstice, Marco. How could I possibly feel cold in this heat?" He sneezes, shooting me a daring look as he mumbles something about summer colds. The idea of that just makes me worry for him even more.

"Tell me if you can't be outside any longer, okay?" We go back to the porch where he was sitting, his bony fingers searching for the food within the bag. "Look... I know it's embarrassing-"

"Don't do that. I won't let you talk like you know what I'm going through." his hands tighten around the bag and it rustles under his grip. "You will never know or understand. Never."

I mumble an apology, but he asks me to leave. Hesitating only for a moment, I leave him to fend for himself and walk into my garden, through the back door with one last look in his direction. It's not either of our faults that he gets mad like that. He's just upset with what he can't change, so his mood shifts in time with the wind's change of directions. But it's my fault that I can't make him forget about what will come.

A few days later, my little sister pops her head round the door of my bedroom. "Lio says he wants to see you, he's waiting out back."

Shuffling off my bed with a groan, I trudge sleepily out the room and pat her blonde head that almost reaches my waist. "Thanks for the message lil' Iza bird. Did mom say to give him any herbs?"

She smiles up at me gleefully, brown eyes glinting up at me. "Nope! You're good. Now go find your husband before I propose to him myself." she pushes my back with the force of a mule and I have to steady myself before she pushes me over. "Because you know I will!"

I grin at her cheekily. "What about your other husbands? Poor Bakar, I liked that one. I made him a flower crown and everything-"

She sounds like my mom when she kicks my out the back door with a deafening screech. I see Lio pulling a face at the noise, matching mine, and we both chuckle.

"I'm so glad I don't have one of them."

"You're so lucky!" I walk over to him, a skip in my step now that I know we're okay, he's bad spell is gone and I'll make sure not to upset him again. "I have so many of them I could make my own army."

He raises an eyebrow, motioning for me to sit beside him. He reaches out to touch my arm to pull me down. "An army? I find that hard to believe. What with you being such a cute and sweet guy."

If the subtle touch has my cheeks turning red, being told ithat/i has my heart pounding so hard that I can't move. I think it's kind of backwards that something which makes you feel good restricts your movement and thought process.

"But then again," he chuckles softly. "You want to work for the king like your father, don't you? Imagine little Marco living it up in the military! You'll end up as commander one day, I bet. All over the morning newspaper! And if everything goes to hell, I'll be sure to sneak under the protection of your wings."

I look at him carefully, taking in the point where his nose turns upwards. My eyebrows crease upwards as I feel a pang of tenderness. "Don't go visiting me without your mother's permission, mind you."

He jumps up suddenly, eyes widening for a moment as he takes both my hands into his, forcing to look into his eyes. "They're letting me go out tomorrow. I can go with you to the woods, just like we've been wanting to for ages."

My back straightens and I lean in closer, only just catching his smell of oak. "That- Cecilio, that's amazing!"

There's a moment where everything is still. Lio's looking into my eyes with an intensity that has my skin tingling and dries my mouth like the sun stealing the moisture from a well. His fingers entwine with mine, something we haven't done since we were kids, eyes lowering to somewhere on my face. "Yeah," he swiftly moves in towards my face and I make no move to stop him as my eyelids flutter shut, mouth parting ever so slightly.

He takes his fingers out of mine, moving to stand up. "It'll be great."

As the eldest in my family, I'm used to not getting what I want. But I'm still disappointed, realizing there and then that I had thought he was going to...

I wanted him to kiss me.

Guess I'm screwed now, eh?

The next day, I plan on walking out to the woods with Cecilio, but his mother tells me he's feeling a bit slow today after having just woken up, that he'll meet up with me later. I know where to go, we've had the same meet-up point for years. Things can go back to how they used to be. Eventually I'm leaving the safety of the cream and brown colored houses and passing through thickets as the scuff of wild plants scratches at my face. Just a little further...

I reach an opening, the best kind of clearing there is; with trees all round in a circle, leaving the sky free of branches so that you have a perfect view of the stars at night. I sit on a large boulder, memorising the rough surface with my hands as I take a sigh of the overwhelming scent of pine trees and sunshine.

Lio appears to be taking his time, and I decide to amuse myself by drawing in the dirt. I write "Cecilio and Marco" so that the names overlap at the o's. That's probably not what friends do while touching their lips with trembling fingers, imagining their best friend's mouth sucking there. My body heats up and I drag myself away from the dirt I've drawn in.

I... I'm in love with him, aren't I?

I bet I look how mom does when she talks about dad whenever I speak with Lio. Gosh, it makes so much sense now. What... what? B-but how can I be in love with a guy? I've never seen two men get married. Oh, but I want to see it happen with us. That'd be absolutely wonderful. Should I tell him?

I ponder this for a long while, glancing up at the dirt path at every little noise I hear, pacing round the names I've written. Then I stop when I realize I've been travelling in a heart shape. I guess I'll have to tell him, otherwise my behaviour will give it away. But maybe... He already knows? I had to have been very obvious, now that I think about it.

I plop myself back in the boulder, thinking about Cecilio and all the times my heart skipped around him when he said nice things about me, all the times I let him kiss my hand and bought things for him, letting him do me favours in return. It kind of sounds like we're married already, huh? That must mean he loves me too!

The sun rises high in the sky, but I wait patiently for Lio because I know his condition might make him slow or need extra help to get him outside. It's been years since he's been allowed to go this far out, at all. Because they don't want him to tire himself out. They need to keep him safe and healthy even when it suffocates him. Not in real life, but that's what he says it feels like.

Ooh, this is going to be so amazing if he kisses me! My heart's pounding already!

An inky blackness invades the sky by the time I wander home, shivering since all I'm wearing is a thin woollen shirt and pants. My fingers are numb, burning when I come into contact with the heat of my mother's cooking at the stove. She spins around, face white with worry when she sees me shivering at the door.

"Marco, Marco, darling, where were you all day?! I've been worried sick!" She hurries over to me with a blanket and I hide my head into her chest.

I mumble against her breast. "He didn't come, why didn't Cecilio come to the woods mom? Is he still not well enough for it? I didn't push him into going, did I? It's just, he, he said he was allowed to go outside and his mother told me to meet him-"

She lifts my chin up with a hooked finger, gazing deeply into my eyes with a silent communication that has me panicking.

"T-tell me he's okay, please." Mom tears up, hazel eyes brimming with water.

"He's not doing so good, Marco. I don't think he should see him when he's like this."

I break out her hold, rushing to the back door, shouting iI have to go, I have to, you don't understand, he's my best friend, he needs me to be there for him/i. And she can't stop me from entering the neighbour's back door with a desperate try at the door handle that opens without question. My feet know where to go, I've been in this house more times than I've seen my father since I was a child. This is my second home.

"Cecilio are oka-"

A brown haired girl is sitting by his bed. She iscreams/i like a scared child having a nightmare when I enter the door. Not at me, but at Cecilio's sleeping body on his bed though I still jump in fear. Tears stream down her reddened face, eyes practically holes in her face as she grabs his shoulders.

I tiptoe closer even though my feet are telling me to back away, toes protesting, getting heavier every second as her breath deepens jaggedly, each urgent hitch a stab to my heart even though I don't know why she's so upset. iBut you can guess too easily, Marco, can't you?/i

"Come back," she begs, sobbing noisily, a grating echo like my younger siblings screeching in the middle of the night; helpless while seeking the help of anyone, someone of comfort, someone to make the bad things go away. Something glues the back of my throat to my tongue, making it impossible to swallow without gagging sharply.

"Please, Cecilio, I'll love you beyond my grave but I'm not ready for you to leave, please don't leave, please, iplease/i." And she kisses his lips.

I'm not naive enough to not know that they're already cold.

But, God, dear iGod/i, I wish I iwas/i and it fucking istings/i to know that I'm not.

All I am is the ripping pain breaking my chest, the onslaught of tears eating me from inside out as stabbing voices reach out to me as I cry out until my throat is blistered and swelling, imake it stop/i. A patronizing voice that sounds too much like my own wanders around idly, watching me disintegrate, talking down at me as though I'll believe Lio's just gone to sleep, he's not gonna be around for a l-long long while, and this is the reality of what we were all waiting for.

I'm the weakness that has me wishing I could forget; it'd be better if it never happened at all. It's not like I was enough for him, not like ishe was/i.

One bitingly selfish thought lashes out at me, throwing me onto dark sharp edges that bleed into my skin ijust like I deserve/i.

He never knew. iAnd he never would've wanted to./i

Tears fall onto the pillow before I'm even fully awake. I cling onto my last memory of Cecilio smiling at me, his using words and sentimentally oblivious actions luring me closer as he remembered the kiss of a girl I didn't even know the name of.

The question is: do I tell Jean?

"You never had closure."

Marco nods, still weeping stickily onto my chest as I cradle him to my body. "And to think... When we were soldiers I practically did that to you, made you go through that all over iagain/i, I-" My voice gives out for no apparent reason. "I swear I never meant to lead you on." I croak, voice still thick with sleep, even though I've been up since Marco clung onto me, crushing me awake.

"Nnn-no, no, you never led me on Jean-"

"But if I didn't then why did you forget?! R-realizing you liked someone who didn't like you back was your trigger and I ended up setting it off -fucking twice, no, three times- be-because I didn't feel that way for you. I'm a constant reminder of that."

He sighs, like he's trying to make words with a simple breath against my clothes. Damn, we never did get changed after that movie. "And I'm not forgetting this time because you ido/i feel the same as I do," there's a heavy pause where he searches for my eyes in the dark and his arms tighten around my waist. "Don't you?"

"Yes, iof course/i I do, I don't go about kissing anyone, now do I? And don't ever suggest that I don't love you or I'll, I'll... slap you with a wet noodle." He laughs weakly and buries his head against my pectorals. "Ugh, It's late, or no, wait, early? I don't even fucking know. My head hurts from crying and I'd bet my whole dinner that yours does too." I run my thumb along the bag under his right eye. "Sleep off the pain for now, yeah?" He mumbles something, and I have to ask him to speak up.

"I'm going to be so damn clingy." he breathes.

"You kind of are already, what with the whole "I must suck your face off every minute" vibe you've got going on."

We don't say anything for a while after that, and I'm halfway asleep when he whispers hot breath into my ear.

"I reckon I'll have a soft spot for him for a while, I don't know how long it'll be there, but I still love you more. Is that alright?" Before I can reply, he must assume I'm asleep as he kisses my lips gently and hopefully follows me into slumber.

Bonfire doesn't get any better than this! Toffee apples, glow sticks, a fuck tonne of sparklers in my backpack and of course, an entire bus of children screaming as we try to convince them to buddy up with someone so they aren't let loose into the cold as balls night. Actually, I hope that balls are never this cold. I wouldn't wish that on anybody, not even Jaeger.

Uuugh, the joys of being a volunteer at a Canadian orphanage! I sure hope you're happy Marco. You've turned me into an unofficial dad.

I call out to my group, hands making a tent around my mouth like I'm speaking into a walkie-talkie as we all step off the bus. "Everyone got their buddyyyyyy?!"

It takes everyone a minute or two to line up, shuffling about like penguins in their full winter attire-complete with fluffy coats and reflectors galore, and they eventually call out "Yeeeees!" I glance over to Marco's group where he's doing the same. The older adults step off the bus, acknowledging our awesome herding skills with a grin and nod, walking over to us with a bounce in their step.

Ellen, the oldest staff member of the orphanage, ushers us closer and tells us we've been working really hard lately, that we should enjoy tonight -while winking, might I add (old people are so god-damn pervy, I swear)- and offers to have the staff take over from where we've finished with the kids. All twenty six of them.

"Well you heard the woman, let's get going! We need to be close to bonfire so I don't freeze my ass off."

I smack his ass, grinning when he doesn't complain or suggest we stay with the kids. I love them, I really do, even if I have my favourites I mean I'm only one guy, but there's only so much love I spread before it thins out, know what I'm saying? Marco and I haven't had much time to ourselves at all lately, so I whisk him away towards the huge ass pile of fire in the middle of the field, pushing my way through the crowd to get to the good area.

Marco holds my gloved hand as I drag him along, all wrapped up warm in his scarf, hat and gloves (all of which were presents from me, and are panda themed) and he speeds up a little bit when he sees how close we are to the fire.

"Oh, I never knew how much I needed heat until just now!" The tables are turned and suddenly he's the one dragging me along, straight towards the fence where the orange flakes and flames burn brightest.

I whine at him. "You could've just asked me, I'll get you hot any day! You name it, princess, and I'll do it." he rolls his eyes, but I know he's laughing really.

When we're as close as we can get to the bonfire, I make sure to pepper kisses on Marco's face as a memo to remember me by when we get separated by our duties again. "Thank you for slobbering all over my face, I really needed that."

"Of course you need it!" I rub my nose against his, watching as his freckles hide in the creases of his eyes. "How else will you function without your daily dose of Kirstein Kisses? It's an affection that's limited edition and super rare, after all."

Sighing, he wraps an arm around my waist. "I'm sorry we don't get much time together. I bet this isn't exactly what you were expecting to do during your gap year."

"You guess correctly, but see the thing is," I turn him around, throwing my arms around his shoulders (Yes! In public. Because Canada's pretty chill about this kind of stuff and I love it), taking his freckles, his dark hair and slightly aged face in, loving every inch that I see. "Is that your happiness is mine, and my happiness is yours, so that means if we're both happy, we're both happy."

"Dork."

"I love being a dork! Screw you, you sappiness evaporator! Lemme have my moment with you. iFeel/i it with me, Marco. Experience it like nothing else."

The blaze of the fire begins to heat my face up quicker than I thought, and with the sudden countdown to the fireworks, all the people around us are shuffling around in excitement. "Ooh, it's starting!" he coos. We cheer along with the crowd when the fireworks finally start, filing the whole sky with raining colors, reminding me of the flares we used for missions and expeditions.

After the third firework, I grin, tugging at his sleeve as I kneel down and get my knee covered in mud.

Before he turns around completely, I get a glimpse of the illumination of his own eyes, his skin dancing with colors as the fireworks shoot into the air with loud pops. Marco looks up where my face should be before he looks down, and when he does, when he sees the little black box in my hand; I know it's a look I'll remember for the rest of my life, and probably every one after that.

"iMarry me, please./i"

Why end with a whimper when you can end with a bang?