This is a birthday present for the wonderful quartetship.! She is a brilliant writer and capable to turn me into a crying mess with a mere paragraph (also great at smut).

Darling, happy birthday. You are such a great person and being friends with you is more than I could wish for ❤ I hope this makes you as happy as I was when you helped me through sad times. Enjoy!

sfw | Jeanmarco | fantasy, sci-fi

Level 5

They came in bullet-proof cars with dark windows.

A truck drove between them, the smaller cars stuck to its sides like flies to a rotting carcass, sucking up the last body heat radiating from sweetly squelching flesh. The newspapers would write about the “tragic incident” tomorrow, and neighbours would remember how men jumped out of the cars, men with long black coats, led by a tall blond and a grumpy looking… boy?

Kasken Alley was swept empty, all civilians barricaded inside their homes. The police had given alarm, a “Sleeper” had woken up, and so the dubious men had been called. The Sleeper’s power had apparently burnt half a . The inhabitants had fled outside and were standing in the dripping rain, water streaming down their stricken faces in thin lines. They were the Sleeper’s family.

It was eight o’clock in the morning.

Levi wrote down all information the family had, pen and notepad hovering next to his face, expression immobile. His coat stuck tight to his legs and back, like he was drowned in glue. He wrung as many words as possible from them, until the little girl started crying again and whimpered, “Wh-what happened to my b-brother?” and clutched her mother’s skirt, tiny fingers curling into bloody fabric.

Before Levi could reply, Erwin called him from inside, voice bellowing. “Levi! I need you here. Now.”

The notepad flew after him when the man whirled around and stalked inside, his coat billowing out under a sharp breeze and pattering rain. He entered the house with a few strong steps, sniffed the air – blood, lots of it. What a fucking disaster. At least the stairs were still usable. The first floor had a lot of busted windows and broken doors, but was, all in all, still accessible.

“To your left,” he heard Erwin’s voice.

Levi followed it, the gun in his hand unlocked and quivering only slightly.

This was a Level 4 at least, strong enough to vaporize the entire street in one go, and they still had no clue what had even happened.

How he or she would be classified, whatever the powers that were had thrown at them, waited behind a room with a green door. Erwin stood in front of it, his fingers melted into the wood, feeling for any waves or heartbeats from inside. His palms rested against the hard surface, but the fingertips were swimming on top of it, stirring gently and catching the high-pitched sound from inside.

Someone was crying. Erwin glanced at him. His ears twitched, and he pulled his fingers out. The wood cracked and returned to its former state.

“What do we have?” Levi leaned next to him, pressed his own ear to the door, waited for any noises. But, of course, his senses weren’t nearly as good as Erwin’s, so he just listened. Erwin blinked and sighed, deep and disappointed.

“My, my. It seems all the blood around here is his own. He must have hurt himself. A young man, and I’d bet he’s a Transformed. I’ve been trying to get him out for a solid fifteen minutes now.” Erwin knocked softly against the door, knuckles sharp and white, contrasting with the dark green.

“Now, will you please let us in? We aren’t here to hurt you-”

“Go away!” What a sound, Levi thought, so little and weeping.

“Last chance to open up, brat.” Erwin didn’t object to his words, staying silent; so he had called Levi to bomb the door free.

As expected, the sobbing voice returned a “No! Leave me alone!”, followed by scrabbling, nails scratching the floor.A window broke.

They wouldn’t go, wouldn’t jump through such a high window. Erwin stepped aside and carded his fingers through Levi’s hair, warming his neck with his big palm flattening on the pale skin. The sign to start. Levi gritted his teeth and flicked his fingers in a short gesture – and the air vibrated. The door unhinged, a loud metallic sound thundered through the walls, and then the door flew across the corridor, crashed into the wall, and cracked into a thousand pieces.

“We’re coming in now. Don’t be afraid, we’re here to fuckin’ help you,” Levi shouted and rolled his head around, the joints in his shoulders creaking a warning from underneath pale flesh. Help wasn’t always accepted gladly.

“That’ll calm him down, definitely,” Erwin remarked, sarcasm a thin layer on his words. Levi shot him a glare, and the door’s ruins behind them quivered from crown to foot for a last time before the whole pile sank into itself and whirled up in a cloud of dust and wood splinters. His rage was dimmed after so many years, but there was still a trace of the old beast left in him. That boy should just – Erwin’s hand slid down his back, wrapped around his waist for a second – a kiss to his shoulder, and wild shudders drew a sigh from Levi’s mouth. After a few moments, Erwin let him go.

“It’s okay, don’t get mad. Let me do it, you wait here. I think I can talk him through this.”

“Whatever.” Levi whirled around, slumping against the wall opposite of the door, eyes squinting in silver slits and resting on Erwin. “I’ll come if you call,” he said, breath fast.

Erwin merely nodded back. His full attention was on the empty doorframe. A second, and his body moved, a wave of strength rolling forward and entering the void behind. Levi clenched his fists and pulverized the pile of wood. The planks shivered under his power and broke, splinters stuck in the walls by sheer force, and then everything imploded in a cloud of dust. Levi blew it away, out of the window and into the bright morning sky.

“Hurry,” he said to no one.

——————

Marco felt everything.

One hour past – an eternity away – he’d been woken up by an ear-shattering scream.

It wasn’t even a single voice that burst the thin membrane out of his ears and splattered it in blood and cartilage all across the outer shell and his jaw.

No, it was a choir of hundred of sounds, some the loudest thunder, roaring inside his mind and making his fingers vibrate and clack against the bed frame. It was the sound of screeching, nails across a blackboard, birds chirping in spring and the wild blustering of a waterfall; dogs barking, screams of agony from humans long dead, and above it all, the deafening beat of his own heart.

“What-”

Marco hadn’t even gotten the chance to cry out and cover his ears – the rest had started.

Every single one of his five senses was on fire.

All of Marco’s memories flew in front of his eyes, and he squeezed them shut when his skin began to crawl. He felt the moment where he broke his arm as a kid again. The howl when he had stepped on the neighbour’s dog’s tail. His first kiss, first night spent with another boy, all the sex at once. His tongue screeched in pain when the taste of iced tea and spaghetti mixed together and nearly broke his brain in half. That was when Marco wanted to laugh.

He didn’t hear how the walls went black from his eyes ripping open, didn’t smell the nauseating scent of a thousand meals being poured into his room. Marco was caught in his own head, and the ability that had been slumbering inside him for years took over.

Erwin entered the room just in time.

Marco had hit the bottom of his fear, had screamed himself hoarse while hitting the floor with closed fists. He had tried everything to keep his senses from going insane – had scratched his skin raw and bloody at some places, his tongue a thick swollen mess from biting on it, and he’d pressed both palms so firmly to his eyes that they were red-rimmed, tears dried into salt along his nose and temples, smeared by his trembling fingers.

“You’re Marco, right?” Erwin began, looking around. The boy was curled up and panting, eyes empty and cried out from tears. The room was a mess, walls painted with black sludge, wood destroyed, his desk a pile of dirt and pulverized furniture dusted across the boy’s private objects. A lonely football rolled from under the bed and stopped at Erwin’s foot.

Marco didn’t say anything.

He didn’t even care anymore if those men took him. Did he hurt them – his family? His little sister, that angel of a girl, had he drawn blood from her tiny body? And the desperation clogged Marco’s chest, he broke into another long, pained cry. His body shook. New tears spilled from his eyes and dripped down. The noise in his head hadn’t stopped. Neither had the pictures flooding his vision, like a fog clouding over his reality.. Erwin swam in a sea of memories mirrored back at Marco – his childhood, paintings he did for school – and then other people in their houses, waking up and going to work. Their laughter was a thundering drum rhythm in his ears.

A million ants crawled up his spine and bit simultaneously into his flesh, teeth twisting and turning and theyeatmealive –

“We’ll take you with us. You have the right to remain silent and leave the Academy after two days of examination and classification. You are allowed to get a lawyer to assist you. No physical or psychological harm will be inflicted on you, unless we have to restrain you when you attempt to hurt others. Do you understand that, Marco?”

Erwin and Levi had said the words two hundred times between the two of them. The shorter man pushed himself off the wall and strolled inside, grimacing at the mess. “What a fuckin’ disaster. Oh, that him? Young.”

“He can’t hear you,” Erwin said, his voice a rumble in the chaos. He squatted down, felt Marco’s forehead. The boy had finally blacked out, eyes blank, the movie of his inner vision still running. Erwin shook his head, shoulders bowed.

“I guess we’ll have to use the truck after all?” For once, Levi spoke quietly, his rage was locked up with heavy chains around his heart. Seeing Erwin like this broke something. When the tall man lifted himself up, his face had heavy lines around his mouth and a hood to his blue eyes.

“Yes, tell them to prepare the metal inside. Bring the earmuffs and the… the eye drops. I’ll need you to stay inside with him, to let him float.”

“Wait.” Levi grabbed Erwin’s shoulder, stared up at him, shock darkening his eyes. That wasn’t – no. “Do you think… do you mean that he’s…?”

“I’m afraid so.” Erwin shook his head at the tiny figure on the floor before picking Marco up. “Tell his parents he won’t come home for some time, and that their son is a Level 4 at least.”

Levi nodded and watched as Erwin pressed the boy to his chest and brought him down the stairs. He followed behind, tucking his gun away and giving the guards waiting outside a curt hand gesture.

They were leaving now. Marco’s mother broke into tears when her son was carried out, body lifeless and eyes open and empty. His father let out a string of curses about the Academy and life and fate, and the little girl – oh, she was the worst. Levi looked at her and tried to smile before he got into the truck with Marco. Erwin had laid the boy down on a barrow, but Levi snarled and lifted him up immediately.

“You can’t just take him like that!”

“You monsters, you… you fuckin’ freaks!”

In the end, they were always angry. Levi heard the truck’s door slam shut behind him. Of course they were taking him away, idiots, did they want Marco to bomb away their whole house? That boy was burning inside, the pain eating all his senses alive.

Levi heard Erwin bellow a command. The truck roared, and Levi sat down on the floor to keep himself from falling. Holding up Marco was difficult enough, and after some time on the road with wheels making idle noises below him, only dimmed by the metal cage he sat in, Levi closed his eyes and focused entirely on the storming mess of Marco before him.

The second awakening was softer and accompanied by silence. Thick and cottony, it pressed into his ears and filled the emptiness inside that had rung with noise. It felt strange, artificial almost. The usual dripping of sounds was gone, but so was the horrifying terror of foreign voices in his head. Marco groaned, licked his lips, and decided that the taste of salt was too weak to be blood. What… what happened to him? His parents, a memory flashed inside his head, and Marco’s eyes ripped open.

“You’re safe now.”

“That’s what bad people say,” Marco replied and tried to turn his head to the voice that broke his beautiful silence. But how – where did it come from? Oh – he was looking, seeing again, his whole vision filled by a blank white ceiling. A blank white room, only marked by the few screws in the walls where metal plates had been plucked together to build a barricade against whatever.

The voice spoke up again.  Was it the man who had come to get him?

“You are safe, Marco. Do you remember what happened at your house?”

“No,” Marco said quietly and bit his lip, blinking at the white ceiling and furrowing his brows. The voice sighed.

“We thought so. Well, your family is alright and at best health. You, however, are a danger to the outside world and yourself, so we brought you here.”

When Marco didn’t reply, the man continued with a stricter tone and a hint of soothing sing-song. Marco didn’t pay any attention; the certainty that his family was safe and sound, that they were unharmed – it flooded his system, blood rushing into his heart and pounding faster, happier. His little sister was safe, thank God.

“My name is Erwin Smith, and you are at the Academy. Do you know what that is?”

Of course he knew. Marco had to laugh. Being here was ridiculous.

“Yeah, sure. This is where the freaks go-” Marco shifted. Something was off.

He didn’t feel anything, contrary to earlier where his world had turned into a chaotic maelstrom of screeching voices and colourful pictures confusing his eyes. Marco looked around again, craned his head up and down. The room was large, the ceiling too high, and the floor was – oh God.

“Don’t worry. You’re floating right now, but you won’t drop. Levi is keeping you in the air so you aren’t overstimulated again.”

Marco choked on his own spit, swallowed it down in a large gulp. He remembered now. Two men, standing in his room, large and quiet the first, blond hair flashing through his vision. The other small, almost delicate, but Marco knew that it had been his movements, his strength that had bombed his door into a thousand wooden pieces.

“What…” He had so many questions. Why, how, what, and then why again, that was most important. “Why did I… do all of this? Am I going insane? Is this, is this an asylum or some shit? Do you take freaks here and euthanize them?!”

That wasn’t taught in school.

They learned that some people had special abilities, and that everyone had a different level. If you were a Level below 2, you could live in peace and have a normal life. That included people who could change their skin colour, or vary the length of their hair, tiny things that were more fun than serious business. Level 3 people were also free to have their own lives, but the Academy checked on them constantly, watching whether their power was in control or not.

Level 4 and 5 had to go to a place called Academy, and were supposedly brought under control there. The school books stopped at that point.

“You aren’t going insane. You are gifted with a strength that has broken out tonight. I’m sorry,” Erwin sighed. Marco flinched when the voice in his head grew louder. How the hell had he got inside his mind – no, listening was more important. Getting out of here, finding a way this horror could be ended –

“But we have to keep you here until you’re back under control-”

Marco didn’t hear how he started to scream when the room was opened and someone entered. He didn’t hear how Erwin roared for Levi to let Marco down and close everything again, and he didn’t hear the name thrown into his cage via loudspeakers.

“Jean, you have to-”

“Chill. I got this.”

That Marco heard and he was absolutely sure that whoever this person was, they definitely had nothing under control. The door this guy had opened – definitely a guy, his loud steps vibrated in Marco’s head and told about his body’s weight and height -, that damn door had let in a row of chatter from outside, voices toppling and tumbling into his cage and conquering his brain once more. Marco had visions pattering into his head, and he felt the body heat of so many people melt with his own, taste what they had eaten yesterday or five minutes ago. Bread, chicken, the laughter of a young woman. Someone asking “Is that him?” and “I heard he’s close to being a Level 5”.

“Please.”

Now he was whimpering, begging for someone to just help, please just help – this damn noise was killing him. Marco felt bile rise from his stomach, the taste of too much food in his mouth, and – he smelt fire and death, rotting carcasses and the sweetness of cotton candy dangling between his nose and teeth. It was everywhere, and it was everything. His senses had gone insane.

“There, there. I got you.”

What in the world? Marco furrowed his brows again just when a string of drool dripped down his mouth, his body desperately trying to push out these wild sensations and keep him sane. A flock of swans he had seen as a kid cackled, and he felt the touch of his first lover, too rough to be nice, mixed with the feeling of his first football match –

“You’re Marco, yeah?”

He snapped out of his own head, and his body fell. Levi had stopped floating him. Marco felt surprisingly okay about that. Maybe his head would hit the floor just right, and he’d  be alright again. Maybe he’d die? Did freaks die, too?

The guy speaking to him was annoyed now.

“Pull yourself together, man. I’m just trying to help you here, a’ight?”

Marco decided to take a last look before he was going to die. He at least wanted to find out who the hell was daring to say ‘pull yourself together’ to him right now.

Opening his eyes turned out to be the only good decision of the day, and Marco’s eyes widened because of a few things at once.

First, Marco didn’t crash down. In fact, he was (second) staring at the white ceiling again, all his bones in place and his head straight on. Also (third) there was a face hovering above him, shifting between a broad grin and furrowed brows

“You okay? Just fell down. Don’ worry, I’ll kick Levi’s ass for that later.”

The fourth thing was the absence of all noise, touch, smell or scent. And all that filled Marco’s view was a boy’s face. The guy had strange two-toned hair, blond on top and brown at the sides of his – was that an undercut? Marco had never seen one, but it didn’t look half bad. The boy smirked again, revealing white teeth and  – oh. He was lying in his arms.

“I – sorry.”

It was a reflex to apologize. The guy quirked a brow and shook his head, making an amused noise between snorting and chuckling. He had amber eyes. Marco’s heart pounded, and when did his blood start to rush so fast into his fingers?

That colour was really, really nice. Almost beautiful. Marco wanted to speak to him, but his mouth refused to say anything coherent and just blurted out:

“Where’s the noise? I, my head, it’s – it hurt so much. I saw everything, ‘twas blurred and so, unh – “

“It’s alright now,” the boy said., A warm hand brushed Marco’s forehead and pushed his hair away. Oh. He was quite fine with the palm resting against his temples, the scent of coffee and a bit of musk and cigarettes lingering around the stranger. At least Marco didn’t smell what he ate the last week anymore.

The stranger cocked his head and pulled Marco closer into his arms, rested a hand above his heart. This little flirt was moving fast – they didn’t even know each other. His brain was probably just in a state of apathetic panic and trying to distract him with stupid nonsense  to keep from going crazy. Was this boy even real?

“I’m Jean, by the way. Don’t speak, ‘kay? I’ll take care of that HS of you.”

Marco didn’t get to ask what the hell HS was before Jean shoved his shirt up and spread his fingers like wings over his heart. Before Marco could object or even get used to the soft shivers radiating into his skin, Jean smiled again. Marco’s breath hitched and stopped for a few long heartbeats.

“Don’t be afraid, I’ll take this shit away. Just relax.”

And Marco did.

Jean’s fingers dug into his chest. If Marco hadn’t been sure that he was going insane right now, he would’ve sworn that Jean’s fingertips melted into his skin. The surface curled, and Jean bit his lip. Marco could only watch how that stranger did something to him, and feel how his head emptied. All the memories of other people’s screams, the myriad of scents clogging his nose and making tears stream from his eyes, vanished with a touch of Jean’s fingers.

“Who… who are you?” Marco’s voice was a shy whisper when Jean drew his hand back and left his chest just as it was before, a faint blush on the slender cheeks beneath his amber eyes. Jean smiled – no, he smirked and carded a hand through Marco’s hair.

“Erwin didn’t have enough time to explain,” he said and pressed Marco closer to himself, arms wrapped around his waist and their noses almost touching. Marco gulped down the fat lump in his throat. If he wasn’t afraid to die any second, he would have jumped up and made an embarrassed apology for sitting so close to Jean.

But the strange thing was – the closer he snuggled to this man he’d never met, to a dangerous guy in a room full of white metal, after a morning of horror and being ripped from his life – the closer he stayed, the safer Marco felt in this new world he had been thrown into. He leaned into the touch, let the overbearing sensations bleed from his head and did what Erwin and Levi had wanted him to:

Marco listened.

Jean used the moment, his arms a hold for Marco to cling to, as he began to explain, voice rumbling in his chest.

“Your abilities can break out at any age. Today was just when your lucky day. Sorry, can’t do anything about it. Erwin and Levi found you after the police were called, I suppose. They lead the Academy and help us get along with the powers we have.”

Marco nodded a bit and nuzzled his nose into Jean’s shirt. He wondered why getting closer felt so good, but stopped when Jean brushed a thumb over his neck and went on telling the story. It was hard to concentrate when a wonderfully rough finger drew circles onto his skin.

“You’re what we call a HSR. That’s short for ‘Hyper-Sensitive and Radiating’. Stupid name, you tell me.” Jean laughed, and his hug tightened. “That means your senses are sharp as a knife, you see and hear anything. Same goes for smelling and shit. That’s why you suddenly had all your mem’ries comin’ back, and heard what people in your street were doing. Well, and radiating-”  

“Are you telling me that I’m, like, radioactive?” Marco nearly jumped up, only Jean’s iron grip to his neck holding him down. When Marco let go of Jean,  a new wave of sounds and blurry pictures crashed into his brain. The pain stung again, thousand of needles on his tongue and nose.

“Ah, sh-shit… s-sorry.” Marco sunk back into Jean’s lap, crawled closer and curled to his chest, cat-like. Jean didn’t seem surprised, just kept on holding him and continued his strange story-telling.

“Nope, doesn’t mean you’re radioactive. It means you radiate this shit into your surroundings. You let other people hear what you hear. Can be good or bad, I mean, you can have someone hear a symphony or let him see a war all day, blood ‘n’ all what sucks in the world. So we brought you here, for training and gettin’ used to it.”

Marco understood, but he still had questions burning on his tongue. His neck craned up, and he glanced at Jean from below. Hot tears had drawn new lines along his cheekbones, his eyes were a red-rimmed mess. He had to look horribly wasted.

“Can I go home? I mean, some day? Ever?”

To that, Jean didn’t reply right away, but leaned his head on the wall and stared up at the ceiling. Marco followed his glance, but didn’t find anything interesting. What was this guy up to? Was he supposed to stay here, train this – Marco still didn’t see it as a part of himself – this beast of an ability inside him, and then what? Live with the sensual sensations trying to break his mental walls each and every day? How could he fight that?

“With me, you could. For example.”

Marco furrowed his brows and shot Jean a confused glare. That guy didn’t talk clear at all. “What do you mean, with you? To your family or what?”

“Didn’t you notice?” And then Jean leaned forward and his thumb began to circle Marco’s neck again, dipped into the skin and all pain, all fear fell off of him again.

Marco sighed and relaxed, tension fleeing from his muscles as he sank into Jean and grabbed his shirt. “What… didn’t I notice?” he asked, Jean’s presence making him sleepy.

Jean just smiled again and blew over his forehead, mocking him a bit until Marco mumbled something and they both chuckled. “Stop that.” – “Nu-uh.” Then Jean went serious again, and the playful attitude made way for severity.

“It’s me, you know. I’m holding that shit away from you.”

Marco didn’t believe his tortured ears. Jean spoke softly, as if any word could hurt both of them.

“I’m a Morpher. You called us Benders in the earlier years. We manipulate certain kinds of matter, of substance.”

Jean went silent. Marco lifted himself up, fingers still flattened over Jean’s heart and clinging to his shirt. He found Jean’s eyes and stared, amber glowing in a weak flame, the pupils pitch-black and depthless.

They both knew what he’d ask.

“What… a-are you bending me?”

Jean closed his eyes.

“Yes. I’m a Level 5. I can bend any organic matter in the world. Right now I’m in your head and keeping your ability from running wild.”

The room went dark. Jean looked up, and his fingers cramped around Marco’s neck when the loudspeakers cracked and Erwin’s voice poured into the cell.

“You’ll stay with him overnight. We’ll check on you two tomorrow morning. Someone will bring you food and blankets in a few. Jean, watch out for him.”

The voice was gone before Jean replied, a quiet and annoyed “yeah, fuck you too”. Marco hadn’t moved from his chest. His mind was calm at last, but the beat of his heart had gone unsteady and he felt a thick sob pile up in his throat. A prisoner, he was a prisoner now, and Jean should keep him under control until – until –

“Marco’s your name, right?”

“Wha – yeah.” Marco whimpered. When Jean pulled him close and whispered “’s okay, I’ll make it okay”, the fear and pain broke from his chest and spilled all over them like the rain pattering down when he was taken from his home. Marco cried. He gripped Jean’s shirt and shouted, for his mother and father and his little sister. He knew he wouldn’t go back, never again.

Jean stayed with him and laid a mist of warmth around his mind when the food and blankets were brought in. He wrapped Marco and himself up, and together they laid down. Jean held him close. He listened, nodded, made assuring sounds that were the only thing Marco could hear without going crazy. Just like that, Jean talked him through the night.

By morning, he knew that Jean was his same age and had left home when he was five.

How his house had fallen to ashes one morning, only the metal pieces and plastic of the kitchen and the computer left over. His own family vaporized because he had a nightmare about going to school next day and asking a girl.

The abilities had broken out and wiped away two more houses. Jean told Marco how he’d killed, and Marco wanted to slap him. He didn’t, though; he just pressed his snot-clogged nose and tear-wet face into Jean’s neck, where he was warm and smelt salty, a forest’s rain and morning dew.

They slept like this, tangled into each other. Jean woke up when Marco did, when his mind roared again and the sweat ran down his back in long streaks, pooled at the curve of his tailbone and made him shiver. Then Jean held him and let those healing fingers roam his head or neck, and after a few horrifying seconds, the pain eased and extinguished like a dying fire.

None of them returned home.

But Jean taught Marco how to play a lullaby in both of their heads before they fell asleep.

After one month, Marco learned how to raise an orchestra of taste in Jean’s mouth when they kissed.

Two months, and his eyes showed Jean the depths of an ocean and how birds flew over the clouds, a golden sunset before their eyes and wild wind under their skin.

One year, and Marco’s touches sent shivers down Jean’s spine when they kissed again, and they slept in their own room with a tiny bed and a desk littered with Jean’s paintings and Marco’s CDs.

Marco still felt everything.

He still rose up crying from his sleep, and Jean had to kiss the tears away and swallow more of Marco’s scents, colours, songs. He did so, every time, and sometimes when Marco calmed down afterwards, they went out of the Academy and laid down in the grass, just in front of the barb wire fence where electricity twitched through and kept them inside.

They’d count the stars. Jean didn’t need to control Marco’s heart to make it beat faster. He only let soft shivers run up and down Marco’s spine, a soft wind caress his face, until Marco laughed and kissed him again. That was when their singularity became unimportant.

When Jean kissed all the breath out of him, and his lips were the only warmth Marco could stand, when Jean tasted of rain and dew, that was all that was in Marco’s world.