Chapter Text
Jean knew he had forgotten something this morning when he left for work. His routine is easy; he wakes up, takes a shower, brushes his teeth while trying to tame his dirty blonde hair, combing it with his fingers because he’s usually running too late to actually attempt to style it, and then he throws on his uniform, goes downstairs, and pops two pieces of toast in the toaster. While his toast is cooking, he goes out to get the mail and he lets his cat Baby follow him because she likes to taste the morning dew on the grass blades while he grabs the bills from the mailbox. She’s a good girl, doesn’t ever try to run or stray farther than a few feet from Jean while he’s out there, and by the time they both make it back inside, Jean’s toast is toasted and if he’s not running too late (which most of the time he is) he’ll have time to butter them and stuff his face while grabbing his wallet and keys, locking up the house, and bolting to his car.
Jean should’ve known something was going to go wrong today when he woke up a mere fifteen minutes before he had to be at work. He had scrambled like hell to brush his teeth and pat his hair down with some water to fix any cowlicks, not having time to shower, and today on his way to get the mail it was a run-and-dash chore, and by the time he threw the bills on the counter, his car keys were already in his hand and his mind already on his first appointment of the day angrily waiting for him to arrive.
He doesn’t realize that he hadn’t bothered to check to see if Baby had followed him out for his mail dash, and if so, that she was now safely inside, until he’s pulling up his driveway after work. He steps out of his used, rusted red Ford Taurus, and his ears are immediately flooded with loud, pitiful wailing meows coming from… above him?
Jean locks his car and pockets his keys, and when he steps onto his front lawn and looks up, big, scared yellow eyes are staring down at him, long tail wrapped around Baby’s tiny little body and claws anchored into the tree bark for life. She’s pretty far up the tree, to be honest, and Jean feels his heart clench as he thinks about that fact that she’s probably been up there all day. It’s 6:30pm right now, and Jean leaves for work at around 8am. Jean doesn’t want to think about his baby sitting up there for hours upon hours, scared and alone.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m coming to get you,” Jean calls up weakly, because he feels his brain filling with panic, and he takes a deep breath as he bites his nails, analyzing the situation and the tree in front of him.
He considers climbing the tree, but he knows that’s the worst idea he could ever have. Even if he did manage that, he’d have a hard as hell time trying to get back down without dropping Baby.
He vaguely thinks about getting a ladder out of his garage but he remembers suddenly that he doesn’t have a ladder, and besides, he’s scared as hell of heights so he’d probably only get halfway up before vomiting and/or passing out (which shoots down the ‘climbing tree’ plan even more).
Jean tugs uselessly at his hair and paces back and forth, and Baby mewls quietly from above him. She seems slightly calmer now that Jean is here, but Jean still feels guilty because he let his cat get stuck in a tree, what kind of owner is he, oh god. He’s going to end up in like, pet owner hell or something for being a piece of shit who can’t keep his animals from getting stuck in fucking trees. He’s going to be on an eternal loop of watching the terrified look on Baby’s face, the betrayal in her amber eyes, and Jean will have to live with this guilt for the rest of his life -
“Hey, are you okay?”
Jean startles, not having noticed his crouched, defeated position in the middle of his front lawn, hands buried over his face as Baby stares at him in wonder, head tilting as another quiet meow escapes her.
He clears his throat, cheeks burning as he scrambles to stand up. He brushes the seat of his pants off and finally looks up at the guy making his way over to him. The first thing Jean notices is the bags of takeout in his right hand, Jean suddenly feeling extremely hungry because he’s been out here dooming himself for the past 20 minutes instead of eating dinner like he normally does after he gets home from work.
The next thing he notices is the almost overbearing splattering of freckles across his face, and when Jean glances down at the guy’s arms peeking out from rolled up sleeves, he sees more brown-orange spots flooding his forearms down to his hands.
Jean crosses his arms and clears his throat once more, opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted with a loud, curt meow from above him, and his cheeks color again as the guy in front of him tilts his head up to look at Baby. Her tail is swishing excitedly, as if she trusts this random stranger to save her over Jean, and to be honest, Jean doesn’t really blame her.
“Need some help?” The guy finally says, and there’s a lightness in his tone, a warmth there that has Jean almost immediately accepting his offer, but Jean hesitates just slightly, because who does this guy think he is -
“It’s okay, I’m a firefighter,” the guy says when he notices Jean’s pursed expression. “I’ve dealt with animals stuck in trees before, believe it or not.”
“I thought ‘fireman helping small kitten stuck in tree’ was just a movie trope,” Jean says, but he relaxes his stance slightly when the guy laughs gently, shaking his head.
“Nope. It’s actually a thing. Happens way more often than you’d think, too.”
A warm breeze rustles the tree leaves, and Baby gives another helpless mewl, and Jean is suddenly back into mother hen mode, muscles tensing and fingers gripping his elbows as he hugs himself, helpless. The guy must notice his panic, because he takes a slight step forward, says,
“Do you have a ladder?”
Jean shakes his head, voice wavering because god, he feels like such a crap owner right now, and he just wants Baby back into his arms, safe and warm. “I don’t - I mean, I’m afraid - ”
“That’s fine, I think Armin has a ladder. Stay here, I’ll be right back, okay?”
Jean nods carefully as he watches the guy jog over to his neighbor’s house, knocking on the door in quick, sharp raps.
His neighbor Armin is a quiet man who owns the bookshop a few blocks over, and Jean had moved in next to him about three years ago. They don’t really speak too much, but Jean nods to Armin on the weekends when he walks his dog and spots Armin doing garden work in the rectangle of dirt in his front lawn. Armin’s lawn always looks colorful and alive in the spring and summer months, and Jean had contemplated a few times asking if he could pay Armin to plant some flowers in his front lawn too, because they always looked so inviting and bright.
Other than that, they’re just quiet acquaintances who occasionally get each other’s bills and have to swap.
“It’s okay,” Jean says when Baby mewls quietly above him, and to be honest, he can’t tell if he’s talking more to Baby or himself.
The sound of a garage door opening startles him slightly, and when he looks up, he sees Freckles making his way towards him, a tall ladder balanced on his shoulder, Armin following a few feet behind him, face tinged with worry.
“Marco told me what’s going on,” Armin says as Marco leans the ladder up against the tree, and Marco, that’s his name. It suits him, Jean thinks, as he watches the broad set of Marco’s shoulders through his shirt as he climbs carefully up to retrieve Baby.
Jean keeps his eyes on the man on the ladder as he responds to Armin. “Thanks for lending your ladder.”
Armin smiles and waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. If I had a pet and it got stuck in a tree, I’m sure you’d do the same.”
“I don’t have a ladder,” Jean blurts out, and his cheeks immediately color pink when he hears Marco laugh from above them, and Armin chuckles softly, eyes warm and bright when they glances over at Jean.
“Anyways, how old is your cat?” Armin asks, and Jean knows he’s trying to get the focus off of Marco trying to coax Baby closer to him, teetering dangerously on the ladder and Jean’s hands feel clammy suddenly, worry settling in the pit of his stomach.
“Her name’s Baby, and she’ll be one year old next month,” Jean replies, wringing his hands. “I adopted her because her owners had brought her into my work, asking if I could do anything about her right eye because she’s blind on that side, and when I said there wasn’t anything I could do they were going to take her to a humane society, so I asked if I could just take her.”
“You work with animals?” Marco calls out from up on the ladder, finally having grabbed Baby, now holding her close to his chest as he slowly makes his way back down the ladder.
“I’m a veterinarian,” Jean says weakly, his eyes trained on Marco’s back as he descends, and as soon as the man turns around, he’s handing Baby off to Jean gently, eyes fond as he watches Jean hug the cat to his chest, burying his nose in her fur and mumbling soft apologies.
“M’sorry, sweetie,” Jean mumbles, kissing Baby’s head, and she slowly starts to purr as her own fear dissipates, finally safe in her owner’s arms again, and when she meows again, it’s happy and content.
Jean looks up after a few moments, sees Armin and Marco watching him with small smiles on their faces, and Jean offers a grateful smile of his own.
“Thanks for, uh. Saving my cat,” Jean manages, eyes mostly trained on Marco, and Marco waves his hand dismissively, voice warm when he responds,
“It’s no problem. I’m happy I could help you, um…..”
“Jean,” Jean supplies, cradling Baby close and trying not to stare at the way Marco’s biceps flex beneath the fabric of his shirt when he reaches for the ladder, eyes still glancing at Jean.
“I’m happy I could help, Jean.”
He gathers up the ladder, and Armin shoves his hands in his pockets as he smiles at Jean, says,
“I had actually invited Marco over for dinner tonight, but you’re welcome to join us too, if you want.”
Marco nods, fingers gripping the ladder tightly so it doesn’t tip to the ground. “Yeah. I bought enough takeout for a small army, so we have plenty of food.”
Jean scritches Baby behind the ears, and when his stomach growls loudly, he flushes as Marco gives him a small smile.
He supposes it can’t hurt, and he nods in thanks, says, “Let me just got put Baby back in the house, and change out of my work clothes, okay?”
Marco grins at him, and Armin nods as they begin walking away, back to Armin’s garage to put the ladder away.
Baby meows at him again, and Jean suddenly realizes she hasn’t eaten all day, the poor thing. He hugs her close, cooing apologetically as he walks inside his house and sets her down in front of the food bowl, where she immediately starts gobbling up her dinner.
Jean’s almost knocked over when Finlay, his five year old golden retriever, jumps at him happily. Jean laughs and accepts the licking kisses to his face, and when his other cat Simon, a 12 year old tabby he took off of his parent’s hands when they decided to downsize to a small condo that forbade pets, winds around his leg, Jean crouches down to scratch under his chin.
“Hey, buddy,” Jean says, eventually standing up once he’s given his pets enough welcome-home love, and he contemplates on what he should wear.
It’s just a casual dinner of takeout with his neighbor and his neighbor’s hot firefighter friend and - wait.
Jean rubs the back of his neck as he heaves a deep sigh, eventually just tossing on a tee shirt and a pair of jeans, trying not to think about anything other than casual dinner with two other people one of whom he’s only casually interested in. Casually. As friends. Maybe even close friends, because Marco did save his cat, and that counters a lot of brownie points for anyone in Jean’s book.
Finlay nudges his leg, and Jean idly reaches down to scratch him behind the ear before slipping on his shoes, grabbing his cell, and making his way back out the front door.
--
Armin’s house is a cozy, homey little ranch with a lot of floral decoration and a forest green suede couch in his living room. His kitchen is themed yellow and lilac, and the wall paper reminds Jean of the Better Homes and Gardens magazines his mom would read every morning.
The house is animal-free, which is strange to Jean since he’s lived his whole life with a cat or dog winding around his leg while he eats dinner, begging for food and whatnot, so the lack of a furry creature at his feet is a little strange.
“So, Jean, you’re a vet?”
Marco’s voice interrupts Jean’s thoughts, and Jean finishes his bite of orange chicken before responding.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, taking a swig of his water and watching as Armin opens the fridge up. There’s a large box on the middle shelf that Jean recognizes as Franzia boxed wine, and he tries to hide a smile because it’s so domestic it’s almost scary. All Armin’s missing is an apron and a husband bustling in through the door from his day at work.
He’s briefly thinking that maybe Marco is that person, but when Jean glances over at the wall, he sees a picture of Armin in the arms of some brunette guy, lips pressed to Armin’s cheek and Armin smiling happily if not slightly embarrassed.
“Who’s that?” Jean says without thinking, nodding towards the picture frame. Armin closes the fridge and grabs a plate, walking towards the table and finally sitting down next to Marco, eyes glancing at the picture Jean had pointed out.
Armin smiles softly. “That’s Eren, my….” he pauses, as if considering how Jean will react, before continuing, “My boyfriend.”
Marco snorts and says, “You guys might as well be married. You’ve been dating since high school.”
Armin rolls his eyes, as if this topic of conversation isn’t really anything new, and says, “You go get yourself a significant other and then come talk to me about mine, okay?”
Jean takes another silent bite of chicken, watching the interaction before him and swallowing before saying, “Does Eren live with you? I never see him around.”
Jean doesn’t get out much, really, but he’s sure he would’ve noticed another body picking weeds with Armin on Sundays, or another car parked in the driveway.
“He travels a lot,” Armin says, his voice going soft as a careful smile graces his face. “This is actually the longest he’s been gone. It’ll be three months tomorrow.”
“What does he do?” Jean asks, setting his glass of water down.
“He’s part of a historical archaeology research group,” Armin replies. “He’s always been into history and fossils and bones and stuff, and his favorite place to study at is Europe so he leaves the country a lot for that.”
He sounds sad, but also insanely proud, and Jean can’t help but smile because Armin looks so in love, eyes straying to the picture frame on the wall, seeming to almost forget he has company over.
Jean tries not to feel lonely, because the last relationship he had was about 2 years ago with one of his clients. Her name was Hannah, and she had a seven year old Yorkie that was prone to ear infections. His coworkers had pushed him into asking her out to dinner since he’d been flying solo for a while. Apparently, according to everyone he worked with, he was beginning to give off the ‘pathetically single’ vibe.
The relationship was a short one, only lasting around three months, and the breakup was mutual, for the most part. Hannah had fallen for somebody else, and the fact that Jean wasn’t nearly as heartbroken as he should’ve been kind of told him he wasn’t as into the relationship as he initially thought he was anyways.
“What’s it like being a firefighter?” Jean asks after a few minutes of eating in silence.
Marco looks up from his plate and shrugs. “It’s nice. A little hectic at times, and the hours can be crazy, but I love my job.” He smiles, and Jean tries to shove down the heat attempting to creep into his cheeks as Marco continues, “What about you? How’s the life of a vet?”
Jean can’t help the smile that floods his face. “I love it, it’s great. I get to work with animals every single day, doing what I love. The best part is seeing the faces of the owners when they come back to pick their pets up after surgery. I’m a sucker for reunions, and it reminds me of my babies at home and - ”
Jean stops himself, because he realizes he’s rambling, and his cheeks color as he thinks that Marco is probably getting annoyed, because who wants to listen to him talk about work?
But when he looks up, Marco’s eyes are trained on his face, chin resting in the palm of his hand, looking genuinely interested, and Jean swallows when Armin begins to put the food away, leaving just him and Marco at the table.
Jean rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, uh.”
Marco’s eyes widen and he sits up straighter, waving his hand dismissively. “No, no, don’t apologize. You seem really passionate about your job. I like listening to people talk about the things they love.”
His smile is genuine and friendly, and Jean wants to ask him more about his job, because for some reason he feels like he’d enjoy listening to him too, but Armin comes back and sits down right as Marco glances at the time.
“Shit, I should get going,” he says, standing up and taking his plate to the sink, rinsing it off. When Jean glances at Armin, the boy is looking at him with an unreadable expression, his lips quirked up, and Jean averts his eyes, eating his last bite of chicken before chugging the rest of his water. He vaguely hopes Armin isn’t going to try and play cupid, because he’s not interested in Marco. Nope. Not one bit.
And besides, even if he was interested in Marco, he wouldn’t need Armin’s help, thank you very much. Jean could totally woo Marco all on his own. If he wanted to.
Which he doesn’t.
“I should get going, too,” Jean says, standing up a little too suddenly and taking his plate over to where Marco is still rinsing his dish. He looks up when Jean appears next to him, and he gently takes the plate from his hands, cutting off Jean’s protest.
“It’s cool, I’ll do it.”
“It should be me who’s doing the dishes,” Armin pipes up, but he doesn’t sound too upset that Marco’s taking care of it. “You two are my guests.”
Marco laughs. “You know I don’t mind helping out.”
“You’re a saint,” Armin replies, smirking and rolling his eyes fondly.
Once the dishes are done, Marco wipes his damps hands on a towel and Armin walks them both to the front door, seeing them out.
“Thanks for joining us, Jean,” Armin says, smiling as he watches them step out the door and onto the front porch. “And I’ll see you later, Marco!”
“Thanks for inviting me over,” Jean replies, courteous, and Marco nods and waves as Armin shuts the door finally.
The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, and it’s leaving a soft, purple-orange glow across Marco’s face when Jean looks up at him.
“Thanks again for. You know,” Jean gets out, rubbing the back of his neck out of nervous habit as he nods towards the tree in his yard. When Marco smiles at him this time, it’s softer, and the shadows on his face from the setting sun define his jaw line in a way that should probably be illegal.
“I already told you, it was no big deal.” And then he’s digging in his pocket, pulling out his car keys and an old receipt. There’s a small, keychain-sized Sharpie hooked to his keys, and he uses it to scribble something down on the crumpled receipt. “And, uh. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to text or call me. Getting cats out of trees is merely one of my many talents.”
He hands the paper to Jean, and Jean tries not to let his face turn as red as a tomato when he carefully takes the number and tucks it into his back pocket. He doesn’t say a word when Marco gives him one last nod before climbing into his car, and when he waves at Jean briefly before taking off down the street, Jean weakly waves back a fraction too late.
The piece of paper is burning a hole in his pocket when he makes it back to his house, locking the door behind him and immediately heading upstairs to get ready for bed. His hand automatically digs out the receipt, and he tosses it onto his bedside table as he strips down to his boxers, climbing into bed and staring at the ceiling before heaving a deep sigh.
Baby settles herself on his chest, and Finlay curls up at his side. His bed isn’t the largest bed in the world, and most people would look at him like he’s crazy for letting a fully grown adult golden retriever attempt to fit next to him on the bed, but Jean makes it work.
Simon plops down up near his head, and Jean knows he’s going to wake up with a cat nearly suffocating his face, but he’s used to that also. He’s warm and sleepy, one hand cupping Baby’s small body and the other buried into Finlay’s fur, and he falls asleep with blank thoughts, the folded up paper on the nightstand being pushed to the back of his mind.
--**---**--
The cocker spaniel laid out on the table in front of Jean whines a bit when he puts a slight pressure near her hind leg, gently turning it to get a better look before determining it’s indeed broken. She was brought in this morning from the overnight emergency clinic down the road, and though a broken leg is a pretty easy fix, it does require minor surgery because he’s going to have to realign it, unfortunately. He runs his fingers through the dog’s fur, giving her a good scratch behind the ear to calm her down before making a note to call the owner and let them know.
“Aw, what a precious girl!”
Jean looks up and rolls his eyes as Sasha enters the room, immediately going over to the cocker spaniel on the table. “She has a broken leg, Sasha. Be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” Sasha replies, leaning down and smiling at the dog, scratching under her chin. “Also, you have two spays and one neuter before lunch break today, and then later there’s a litter of puppies that need a check up and vaccinations. Other than that, you’re open for call-ins.”
“Thanks,” Jean says, grabbing his clipboard to get the number of the cocker spaniel’s owner. “Can you take her to the back and get her situated? Make sure she’s comfortable.”
Sashs stands up and salutes him, and Jean makes his way to the entrance area, where a shaky, terrified looking shih tzu is huddled in his owner’s lap. Jean makes a face of sympathy as he heads over, checks his clipboard briefly before looking at the young man holding the dog.
“You must be Mr. Kefka?”
The man nods, and attempts to soothe the animal shaking like a leaf in his lap. “Call me Franz. And this is Yoda. I have no idea how he knows, but it seems as if he’s aware he’s at the doctor’s office.”
Jean smiles at the name before getting down at eye level with the dog. “It’s the smells. Antiseptic, medicine, sickness. Dogs have incredible noses.”
This patient is written down for a simple neuter, and Jean stands up and motions them to follow him into the check up room. Normally Sasha is the one who sees the patients first, does the brief check up before grabbing Jean for diagnosis or, in this animal’s case, time estimate for the neuter, but Jean puts her in charge of the spaniel so he can go ahead and get started on his appointments for the day since his first had arrived a little early anyways.
Most neuters take between five and twenty minutes, and Jean lets the young man know, while giving him a briefing of the procedure and the after care, and with that, he tells the owner to go wait out in the waiting room while he takes care of Yoda, who’s still trembling like all hell.
“C’mon, Yoda,” Jean says cheerfully, giving the dog a comforting pat on the head. “Let’s go cut your balls off.”
--
Connie meets him in the break room around 2pm, two bags of Taco Bell in his hands, and Jean almost cries with relief.
“I owe you my entire life,” Jean says when Connie sits down across from him, handing him a bag, and Jean immediately starts digging around for his cheesy gordita crunch.
“No thanks,” Connie says, laughing as he unwraps his taco. “I’ve seen your life. You can keep it.”
Jean glares at him before taking a bite, mumbling around a mouthful of food, “How’s your day been?”
Connie shrugs. “Eh, nothing too special. A few rabbit check ups and a hedgehog with a respiratory infection.”
Connie is an Exoctic Animal Veterinarian, who specializes in things like rabbits, ferrets, other small rodents, turtles, and the like. He’s the only vet of that practice at this small clinic, so his day is usually pretty full. Today seems to be a slightly more relaxed day for him, though (so far).
“Anyways, how’s Finlay and Co.?” Connie asks, taking a drink of his soda.
Jean suddenly remembers the events from yesterday, and he tries to ignore the blush attempting to rise as he thinks about the not-yet-forgotten phone number on his night stand. “Um. They’re all good,” and then, as a quiet after thought, adds, “Baby… got stuck in a tree yesterday?”
It’s more like a tentative question, hoping Connie is too engrossed in his knock off Mexican food to hear, but unfortunately he’s not that lucky, and Connie splutters on his bite of taco before laughing hysterically.
“Dude, seriously? I thought that shit only happened in movies.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Jean says miserably, rubbing the back of his neck. “She was rescued by a firefighter.”
Jean refrains from adding ‘a really, really attractive firefighter, too’ to that sentence, thankfully, but Connie seems too preoccupied with trying to breathe through his laughter at the moment anyways.
“You fucking called the fire department?” Connie manages, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“No!” Jean blurts out, cheeks red. “No, jesus. Um, he’s my neighbor’s friend, who was over for dinner, who just happened to notice my dilemma, and who... also just happened to be a firefighter.”
It sounds much less believable that way, and Connie is still trying to come down from his hysterical laughter, but Jean can’t really blame him, because if one of Connie’s pets were stuck in a tree, Jean would’ve probably fallen out of his seat laughing by now, too.
“Is Baby okay, though?” Connie asks once he’s finally calmed down enough to speak properly.
Jean nods. “Yeah, she seems fine, thank god.”
“And how about your firefighter?” Connie adds nonchalantly. “Was he, you know, fine too?”
Jean’s body temperature seems to raise a good 20 degrees, his ears going hot and blood rushing to the surface of his skin as he opens his mouth to respond, but Connie’s a sharp one. He has a good eye and he’s known Jean since they were in college together, so the sudden strangled silence gives him all the information he needs, and he grins much too wide for Jean’s comfort.
“Oh my god, you totally fucked the fireman.”
Jean splutters, almost knocking his drink over. “No, oh my god.”
Connie leans back in his chair, contemplative. “You wanted to though, right?”
“No, fuck,” Jean says, which is only a partial lie, because yes, Marco is attractive and Jean wouldn’t mind rolling around in the sheets with a guy like him, but for some reason Jean wants to… well. If this does go anywhere, he doesn’t just want it to be a one-and-done thing. He doesn’t want a one night stand. He had enough of those in college, thank you very much. “He… he gave me his number. Um.”
Connie blinks before scrunching his face up and wiping away an imaginary tear. “My boy is finally going to get some.” He fake sniffles, reaching across the table to pat Jean on the shoulder. “Making daddy proud, son.”
Jean groans, letting his head fall onto the table in front of him. “Oh my god, shut up.”
Connie just starts laughing again, giving him another pat on the shoulder, this time a little more convincingly sincere, and Jean tries not to think of that stupid crumpled receipt on his nightstand, tries not to think about the next time he’s going to see Marco, because one day, he’d really like to see how far those freckles stretch down his body.
--
When he gets home from work, he can’t help but glance up at the tree in his yard as he walks to his door, even though he knows for a fact he made sure Baby was safely inside this morning. It’s an unconscious act, and he can’t help but let out a quiet breath of relief when he sees the tree empty and bare. He also can’t help himself from glancing over at Armin’s house next door to see if there’s a familiar silver Nissan in the driveway. There’s not, of course, and Jean chides himself on even looking in the first place, because why should he even care? He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care, and he obviously doesn’t. He heaves a sigh as he locks up his car and heads inside, his keys jingling when he drops them on the kitchen counter, and he grins as Baby immediately latches onto his pant leg, sharp claws digging in on the verge of painful as she attempts to climb his calf.
Jean reaches down and lifts her up after a few minutes of watching her struggle, and she immediately curls into the crook of his arm, purring loudly and causing her whole body to rumble happily.
A wet nose nudges his thigh, and Jean reaches down, says, “Hey, Finny, how’s my boy, huh?”
Finlay wags his tail excitedly, and Jean finally sets Baby back down on the ground, who proceeds to bat at Finlay’s wagging tail playfully. Jean sifts through the envelopes from the mail he threw onto the counter this morning, not really bothering to open them and actually glance inside because he knows ninety percent of them are just bills, and damn, sometimes he forgets how much it sucks being an adult.
He loves his job, and he’s pretty content with his life, but having flash backs to the days where ‘bill’ was just the name of his classmate in 3rd grade instead of something that causes him stress and debt really makes him miss childhood.
Jean sighs, idly digging around in the fridge for some leftover noodles from two nights ago, grabbing a fork to stir them around a bit before popping them in the microwave, going upstairs to change into some more comfortable clothes while his food cooks. He ends up grabbing the tiny slip of paper on his nightstand on his way back down to the kitchen, and the hastily written numbers are kind of intimidating but comforting at the same time.
He can’t really even remember ever having this feeling just by staring at a dumb old receipt. With Hannah, they’d just agreed on a time to go out to dinner and the number exchanging came afterwards. In college, well, he didn’t really... date people, to be honest. He fooled around, exploring his new found freedom of being able to finally be himself without the ridiculous judgment of high schoolers, and never really ended up settling down into a committed relationship throughout school.
This strange, bubbly feeling in his stomach as he clutches the paper in his hands is foreign, and Jean’s not really sure what to make of it. He has some ideas, but it’s stupid because Marco would never -
A loud pop breaks his train of thought, and when he looks up, finally having walked back to the kitchen, his heart plummets into his stomach.
“Holy shit.”
He whips open the microwave door, and his noodles - along with the stupid dumb motherfucking metal fork - have caught a small fire, the spark from the metal catching the styrofoam container alight. And fuck, styrofoam, too. Jean feels beads of sweat bubble up on his forehead as he freezes up, because fuck, fuck there’s a fire in his microwave, and he’s such a dumbass. Now, he’s not only going to pet owner hell, he’s going to dumbass human being who microwaves metal forks and styrofoam containers hell, also. He must’ve not been paying attention when he grabbed the food and haphazardly started nuking it. (Which now, he might end up nuking his whole house if he doesn’t get his head out of his ass and do something.)
Jean whines, and before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s whipping his phone out of his pocket and punching in the numbers from the crumpled receipt. He knows he should probably call the fire department or some shit, but his alarms haven't gone off, and he’s maybe just slightly embarrassed and -
“Hello?”
“Uh, hi, Marco? Is this Marco? It’s Jean, the guy - ”
“Yeah, hi! I remember,” Marco says cheerfully, and Jean wants to be happy at the warmth in his voice but he heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, and he thinks he’s having a panic attack again, oh god. Marco seems to notice the deep breaths, though. “Are you okay? You sound… off.”
“Marco, how do I put out a fire?” Jean ends up blurting out, and his palms are sweating, the cell phone in his hand feeling heavy and weighted.
“A fire?” Marco replies, voice worried. “Jean, you should call the - ”
“It’s. It’s just a small one, and I’m - I’m kind of freaking out, and I don’t want to - ”
“Hey, it’s fine, you’re okay,” Marco says after a few moments, and his voice has evened out, soothing and comforting. “Tell me where it is.”
“My noodles caught on fire,” Jean manages, voice pathetic and weak as he watches the flames lick higher in his microwave, and he needs to do something. “In the microwave, I - fuck, I shut the door, is that bad?”
“Jean, listen to me,” Marco says over the line. “I want you to grab a damp dish towel, toss it onto the fire in the microwave, and then close the door. The lack of oxygen will suffocate the flames, okay? Can you do that for me?”
“Yes. Yes, yeah, um. Okay.”
Jean sets the phone down, hands shaky as he does as he’s told, and once he loudly slams the microwave door shut, he picks up his phone, hands still damp from wetting the towel, and breathes shakily into the receiver.
It’s quiet for a moment, Jean trying to calm his racing heart, and after a few beats of silence, Marco’s voice interrupts the quiet.
“Okay?” The word is careful and hesitant, but still comforting, and in control, like he has to deal with overly panicked people a lot (which, Jean figures, he probably does, you know, with the whole firefighter thing and all).
“Yeah. I think so,” Jean says, though his voice still wobbles just a bit, and he gasps and jumps when Finlay knocks over his food bowl, the clang startling him and almost causing him to drop his phone. “Shit.”
“I’m coming over, just to make sure everything is okay,” Marco says finally, and there’s really no room for protest in his punctuated words. Jean just makes a quiet noise of agreement, and when the click of the phone signals Marco has hung up, Jean takes a deep breath and eyes the microwave warily.
He kind of feels light headed, embarrassed, and anxious, because shit.
Marco is coming over.
Jean’s heart suddenly jump starts again as he scrambles to clear the bills off the table, shoving them into a drawer for now before going over and picking up Finlay’s food bowl, making sure the mess around it is cleaned up as he runs a shaky hand through his hair, eyes averting down, and that’s when he realizes he had just grabbed a ratty, frayed pair of plaid pajama pants to change into, and an oversized Best Buy-advertised t-shirt he got for free a few years ago on Black Friday when he fought for the stupid Playstation 3 he never actually uses.
All in all, he looks like a bum, but before he has a chance to run upstairs and change into something more presentable, there’s a loud knocking at his door, and Jean almost trips over his own feet as he makes his way towards it, his outfit be damned.
When he swings open the door, he feels scarily insignificant because Marco’s expression is serious with a twinge of worry from the lines creasing in his forehead, and he steps forward before Jean even invites him in, a hand careful as it reaches out to grip Jean’s elbow.
“Are you okay? You sounded really panicked on the phone.”
Jean would’ve normally had the unfortunate tendency to blush like a tomato, but his skin at the moment is so pale and drained from the events he just went through that any color wanting to make its way into his cheeks is washed out completely.
“I’m sorry, um. You didn’t have to come here. You probably had a long day at work or whatever,” Jean manages, finally stepping back and Marco’s hand falls from its grip on his elbow as he follows Jean inside.
“I’m actually off today, it’s no problem.” His smile is soft and reassuring, so Jean lets himself relax just a bit as he leads Marco to the kitchen.
Before they can even make it all the way down the hall though, an excited, warm fluffy weight bolts past Jean and almost knocks Marco on his ass, happy pants and tail wagging fast enough to blur as Finlay tries to jump Marco again.
“Finny,” Jean scolds, stepping forward to grab Finlay’s collar, gently pulling him off Marco and holding him at his side. “Oh man, I’m really sorry, I should’ve warned you.”
Marco looks a little surprised, but not angry, and he smiles as he steps forward, a hand reaching down to pet Finlay’s head, the golden retriever lapping a tongue over Marco’s fingers excitedly.
“It’s fine, I like dogs,” Marco replies, and once Jean has calmed Finlay down enough not to try and knock Marco over again, he finally leads the other man to the kitchen and vaguely waves his hand in the direction of the microwave so it can be looked at.
Jean carefully picks up Baby, idly petting her as he watches Marco open the microwave and gently lift the towel, and when he turns around he has a crispy looking styrofoam container with a half-melted fork in his hands, fire-free, and Jean lets out a sigh of relief.
“You don’t… need me to educate you on the dangers of microwaving these two items, right?” Marco jokes as he tosses them in the trash, but there’s a tiny undertone of worry as if he’s scared Jean might actually be a legit uneducated dumbass.
“No!’ Jean blurts out, setting Baby back onto the ground and watching as she trots over and bumps carelessly into Marco’s leg. Jean watches as Marco smiles down at her fondly before reaching down, gently picking her up much to her happiness. Jean swallows. “Sorry, she’s blind in one eye, which causes her depth perception to be off or whatever, so she bumps into things a lot.” Jean runs a hand through his hair before continuing, “I was just. I must’ve been distracted. I wasn’t paying attention when I put it in the microwave. I’m not - ”
“It’s okay, Jean, people make mistakes,” Marco laughs, and Baby licks his chin curiously, tiny tongue scratchy and ticklish against the skin, and Marco chuckles again, large hands cupping her small body. Jean feels something tighten in his stomach at the scene in front of him, and he clutches the hem of his tee shirt unconsciously, fingers toying with the frayed edges, suddenly dangerously conscious of every move Marco makes in front of him.
“Thanks for coming, you didn’t - ” He cuts himself off when Marco shoots him a look, and Jean smiles sheepishly. “Just. Thanks.”
Jean tries not to think of the fact that Marco has helped him twice already in the past day and a half, and he feels suddenly very incapable, and very guilty, because Marco seems like the guy who just does things like this all the time without any reward.
“How about I order us some pizza or something, as a real thank you?” Jean says casually, and he tries to tell himself it’s because he thinks Marco deserves a good thanks-payment, and not because of the fact that Jean really doesn’t want him to leave yet. “I would cook, but, uh. I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”
Jean bites his lip, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances up, awaiting Marco’s response, and Marco silently sets Baby back down on the ground next to Simon (who’s finally emerged from his cocoon of blankets at the foot of Jean’s bed) and shoves his hands in his pockets, a bright smile gracing his features as he says,
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
--
Jean normally eats dinner on the couch in front of the television, watching old recordings from shows he tries to keep up with but ends up at least two seasons behind anyways. He figures having Marco shouldn’t deter him from his normal routine, so when he walks back into the kitchen after answering the door for the pizza, he nods towards the living room, says,
“How do you feel about Persons of Interest?”
Marco shrugs. “Never seen it.”
He follows Jean into the living room, and they sit on the couch with a good amount of space between them. Jean’s couch isn’t huge by any means, but it’s large enough that their knees don’t knock together when either of them reaches forward to grab another slice.
It feels weirdly comfortable, and Jean gets up after clicking on the television, says, “Beer?”
Marco nods and smiles in thanks, looking down as Finlay settles himself at Marco’s feet, curling up and eyeing the slice of pizza in his hand longingly. Jean watches as Marco uses his free, unoccupied hand to pet him on the head, and Jean swallows as he finally spins around, heading to the fridge to grab a couple beers and napkins off of the counter.
When he gets back, the intro sequence is over for the show, and Jean glances over after sitting back down, handing Marco his drink.
Marco’s eyes stray from the screen to take the beer, and if their fingers brush against the neck of the bottl, Jean pretends not to notice. “Thanks,” Marco says, digging in his pocket for his car keys where a keychain-sized bottle opener hangs. He pops his cap open, and Jean is suddenly aware that he forgot to open his own, and when he looks back at Marco sheepishly, Marco laughs and motions him closer.
“C’mere, I’ll pop yours too.”
Jean scoots a bit closer on the couch, and their thighs almost touch, but not quite. Jean can still feel the body heat radiating off of Marco, though, and when Marco pops the cap off his beer, Jean doesn’t move away.
“I really appreciate you coming over,” Jean mentions after a few minutes, tapping his fingers along the side of his beer bottle.
Marco grins at him again, reaching down to pet Finlay, whose head is resting against his shin. “Not a problem. I’m glad I was off work today to come and make sure you didn’t burn down your house.”
Jean hums. “Do you get a lot of days off, then?”
“Sort of,” Marco shrugs, taking a drink of his beer. “There are a few different schedules to choose from, but the one I’m on, I work four days in a row, seven am to five pm, and then I’m off for four days, and then the next four days I’m on the overnight shift five pm to seven am.”
“Having four days off must be nice, though, right?” Jean asks, because he’s only off on Sundays since they aren’t even open then. He loves working, but it does get exhausting working 45 hours a week, not including any over time he sometimes has to use to finish up any longer-than-usual surgeries or whatnot.
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” Marco agrees, and when he leans back against the couch his leg shifts, and his thigh brushes against Jean’s. He doesn’t move away or seem to even notice, so Jean just swallows and takes another drink, noticing his bottle is already almost empty.
“Sorry I keep making you come to my rescue on your days off,” Jean mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, because Marco is a nice guy, and he’s probably just feeling a insane amount of pity for Jean and his lack of control over his life. Letting his pets get stuck in trees? Setting his leftover noodles on fire? Marco probably deals with a lot of dumbasses in his line of work, and Jean is probably near the top of his list.
“I wouldn’t have come over today if I didn’t want to,” Marco points out, raising an eyebrow. “Contrary to what you might think, I like hanging out with you.”
Jean refrains from saying something along the lines of “You just wanted to make sure my house wasn’t engulfed in flames,” because Marco seems sincere enough, but Jean still finds it hard to believe.
They watch two more episode in relative silence, and when Baby bumps into Marco’s foot, causing him to jump a bit, he finally glances at the clock on the wall and heaves a content sigh.
“I should probably get going,” Marco says, standing up and stretching. Jean tries not to follow the line of his spine through his shirt, and fails significantly, averting his eyes as Marco continues, “Today is my last day off, and tomorrow I start my four days of overnight shifts, so I should get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” Jean says, clearing his throat and standing up as well, instinctively picking up Baby as she tries to climb up his pant leg again. Marco smiles at them both fondly, and Jean buries his nose in her small body in an attempt to cool down the heat gathering in his cheeks.
“I had fun, thanks for the pizza,” Marco says as he makes his way towards the front door, Jean following carefully behind him and twitching when Baby licks a scratchy tongue over his chin. He doesn’t respond, just nods silently, and Marco rubs the back of his own neck. “Text me whenever, yeah? I’d like to know what happens next in that show we were watching.”
“Persons of Interest,” Jean supplies quietly, trying to ignore the way his heart seems to be trying to burst out of his chest and flop uselessly on the wooden floor like a dead fish.
“Yeah,” Marco smiles, and with one last wave he walks out the door, closing it behind him, and Jean heaves out a deep, shaky breath as he looks down at Baby.
Her good eye is wide and curious as she stares up at him, offering a quiet mewl and tilting her head slightly, and Jean laughs a little hysterically, pressing her nose to his own.
“I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
Baby licks his nose in response, and when Jean looks up, Finlay is sitting in front of the window, watching as Marco pulls out of his driveway and speeds off. Finlay whines quietly when Marco’s car disappears down the street, and he lies down, resting his chin on the window sill as he eyes the street outside longingly.
Jean sighs again, scratching gently behind Baby’s ears. “Looks like we’re all fucked.”