Chapter Text
Ever since he first laid eyes on him in freshman year, Marco had harbored the most ridiculous, devoted and blindly passionate crush on Jean Kirschstein.
He had no idea how it had started, but ever since the legendary brawl between Jean and some anger-management-issues kid named Eren Jaeger, he couldn’t help searching for the teen with a two-toned undercut and sharp amber eyes in the corridor between classes. And when he found what he was looking for, his heart rate jacked up and he would get that fluttery feeling in his gut. It was unmistakable: he was head over heels for Jean Kirschstein.
By the time he was a senior, Marco knew everything there was to know about Jean Kirschstein without ever exchanging a word with him (all thanks to the innovation of social media in the 21st century). The guy didn’t even know he existed, and Marco already knew who his best friends were, what he liked to do in his free time, his favorites and even his moods day to day. He indulged himself in horribly fanciful fantasies wherein Jean was his boyfriend and they were madly in love. Sometimes they were erotic, and he found himself shamefully jacking off to it.
But reality was a bitch, and Marco knew that for all his illusory daydreams and stalking efforts… Jean Kirschstein would never be the slightest bit interested in someone like him.
He was a good 45 pounds heavier than the average high schooler, and it showed in the three rolls of flesh on his abdomen and chubby face. He attributed at least half of the weight to his mom’s insanely good culinary skills and her preference for serving Italian, mostly to please his Italian born-and-bred dad. The latter had given him the genes for enviably thick and soft black hair that he habitually and lazily kept in a centre-parting style, while from his mom he had inherited the splattering of freckles all over his anatomy. He didn’t doubt that if he checked, there would be freckles on his too-generous ass. People tended to avoid Marco for obvious reasons, whispering stereotypical insults like “fat-ass” and other unimaginative derogatory terms for the obese.
It hurt, of course, and for a while he entertained the idea of being home-schooled just to avoid it. But then that would mean never seeing Jean Kirschstein again, and that wasn’t worth it. That was just how much he was in love with Jean Kirschstein, despite his disappointing awareness that Jean was heterosexual and in love with someone else.
In sophomore year, it was widely known that Jean had the hots for Mikasa Ackerman, Eren Jaeger’s adopted sister. It was rumored that his crush on Mikasa had been the reason for the unending feud between the two. For a while, they appeared to be a thing. Marco once spotted Jean with his arm slung across Mikasa’s shoulders, walking across the parking lot to his car. The sensation in his chest upon sighting the scene was not unlike someone stomping on his heart in nine-inch stilettos.
Then the thing was over, and Jean was notoriously single after Mikasa apparently ended the relationship under duress from her adoptive brother and as a sign that the fling was over, she cut her beautiful jet-black hair. Jean appeared unaffected by it from what Marco could glean from his Twitter and Facebook statuses, but he had to be upset. Marco only wished he could offer some sort of comfort. He spent the whole of his high school life fading into the background, or as much as an obese student like him could. He cooped himself up in the art room during lunch, skipped PE entirely to avoid the humiliation and never raised his hand in class or got outstanding grades except for Art class. He dressed himself in oversized sweaters and nothing clingy so he could hide his body, and never changed in front of anyone.
He was content, mostly, with being anonymous and unknown and just watching Jean from afar. Then everything changed when he entered university.
Almost everyone he knew from high school went to the same university, as if by some pact they had agreed not to separate paths. Despite his mother’s protests, Marco made the unexpected decision to move into the dormitories. He didn’t really know why he did it either; self-conscious and obese that he was, he never quite liked the idea of sharing a room with a stranger who might end up being a total jerk to him. Until he read the name on the list of dormitory residents printed next to his under Room 208:
Kirschstein, Jean.
“…oui,” Jean pinched the bridge of his nose. It had a bump in it where it was slightly crooked from a break that had not been set properly. “Oui, maman. Tout est réglé.”
He toed an empty cardboard box labelled “clothes”, eyeing the stack of unfolded garments taking up residence on the edge of his bed. His mother continued to nag and worry at him over the phone, and he muttered placating words in French as was the language his mother frequently used like right now.
“And your room-mate?” Jean sat up straight when his mother switched to English. She spoke with an accent that wasn’t unpleasant, but made it very obvious that she wasn’t a native. “He has arrived?”
“No,” he sighed. Marco Bodt. The name was vaguely familiar, like he’d skimmed over it in the yearbook. “Not yet—“
A muffled knock on the door had him lurching to his feet. “Ah, he is here. Au revoir, maman. Je vais vous rappeler plus tard.”
He hung up to the sound of his mother’s protests and nearly tripped over his junk to open the door. Whatever he was expecting to see, it certainly wasn’t a stack of boxes rather than a human being.
“Sorry! Um- do you mind…?” Jean had absolutely no idea where the muffled voice was coming from, but he obliged it anyway by taking the top box. It was sealed shut and labelled “stuff” by someone with ridiculously beautiful handwriting.
Once he’d taken it, he could see the top of his new roommate’s head. Black hair, that looked shiny and soft to the touch, that had been carelessly parted down the middle by habit rather than intentional styling.
“Thanks,” the voice was not quite as muffled now, but Jean shot out an arm to steady him when he very nearly stumbled over his own feet as he walked through the door. He barely touched Marco Bodt’s arm when he just jerked away, spewing apologies.
“Dude,” Jean pitched his voice so he could be heard over his new (and apparently socially awkward) roommate’s apologies. “Just chill. Put your stuff down so I can actually get a look at you.”
Marco stiffened, and slowly put his boxes down. Jean was mildly taken aback by his new roomie’s appearance. The word niedlich popped into his head, and he had to shake it before he said it out loud.
His new roommate was at least an inch or two taller than him, but unlike Jean whose body had been trained rigorously from daily regimes for years, he was undeniably potelé, like his mother would say. He was wearing a large, oversized forest green knit sweater that didn’t quite hide his generous figure, and freckles adorned his chubby cheeks. He had almond-shaped eyes with chocolate brown irises and they could only be described as doe eyes, the kind you couldn’t help liking upon sight.
He was also very, very nervous.
“Oh, hey,” Jean proferred a calloused hand, abruptly recalling his manners. His mother would have sighed and shaken her head in exasperation. “I’m Jean Kirschstein. Nice meeting you.”
Marco didn’t shake it immediately. He seemed to hesitate, then almost reluctantly put his hand (there were dimples where his knuckles should be, Jean noted. It was actually kind of adorable, like a baby’s hand) in Jean’s. “Hi. I’m Marco—um, Marco Bodt.”
“You need any help getting your stuff sorted out?” Jean asked easily, looping his thumbs through the belt-loops of his jeans, which were fraying at the hems and the knees. “I took the left side of the room. Hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s okay,” Marco mumbled, eyes cast downwards. Jean had to resist the urge to cup his face and force him to make eye contact. He loathed it when people talked to his feet rather than his face. Even Eren stupid Jaeger didn’t have that problem, although Jean wouldn’t mind shoving Eren’s stupid face in the direction of his feet. “I’m right-handed anyway, so I don’t mind.”
Jean blinked at the slight show of humour, and Marco peeked at Jean’s side of the room. “Besides, I think you need more help getting your stuff sorted out.”
Jean glanced back at his messy bed. “Right. I’ll get to that.”
Marco gave the smallest hint of a shy smile, and busied himself with his things. Jean stared at his new roommate for a little while longer before going back to attempt to sort his stuff out, feeling a myriad of feelings about Marco Bodt, and not quite sure what to make of it all.